Juliet's Path
by ruby gillis
Summary: COMPLETED! The continued story of Juliet Kent, back by popular demand. What does married life have in store for her? Read and find outand review!
1. Here, Happy, and Together

A/N: I have answered the call for another Juliet story. I've already covered so many of LMM's characters: The Story Girl, Di, Una, Pat, Emily, Marigold...and I'm running out of ideas! And Miri, you're right, the last story does feel a bit unfinished, even though I didn't intend to write another Juliet fic. Maybe subconsciously I knew her story didn't end there. (And yes, I've kind of abandoned my short stories about the Blythes. Although I'm thinking of continuing that in another vein...more to come on that later.) Flailersrule, I will respect your wishes and not have Juliet become a mother too soon...although I _do_ want to have children involved in some way in this book. But I think I've gotten a way around that! Terreis, little Embeth _will_ have Juliet's old room—I don't know how much I'll be able to work into this story about the old folks back on PEI, so I just thought I'd bring that up now. All of you guys better update more on your stories soon!

Thanks for all the reviews on my other Juliet stories! I hope you all like this one, too. Please—as always—

read and review!

* * * 

Juliet Miller, _neé_ Kent, crossed Ghirardelli Square, soaking in everything around her. The buildings were so tall! And there were so many of them! She had thought that Charlottetown was a big city but it seemed a veritable backwater compared to the hustle and bustle of San Francisco. A streetcar's bell clanged somewhere—a foghorn sounded in the nearby harbor—and people, everywhere people, called to each other—people of every size, shape and color. Hundreds of people! Juliet had never seen so many people in one place in her whole life! And all of them had somewhere to go, something to do. As they passed her in a blur, they smiled, and Juliet found herself again marveling at the friendliness of Americans. 

She had been shopping all morning—she'd already bought two sweaters for Allan, a Chinese parasol for Mother and a painted fan for Aunt Ilse, and some expensive oil paints to send to Father that before he'd had to go to Montreal to get. She'd visited a Turkish rug shop and ordered an Oriental for the house—at the Greek jewellers she'd bought earrings for friends Bea and Trudy—at a little boutique she found frilled baby dresses to send to Bella for Embeth and Joy for Rose Anne. And oh, she'd gotten the most cunning little booties for Bea's new arrival. They baby had been born in March. Bea and David had named her Belinda and were calling her 'Linda' for short which meant 'pretty'—and she was. Juliet had seen pictures. 

She had stopped only once at the little cafe run by a family of Italians who spoke little English but had argued over which one of the sons would be most likely to marry her! Or they had until Juliet flashed her wedding ring—it was still a shock and delight to see Allan's gold band on her finger. At which they had all run forward to congratulate and kiss her and shout wishes for her continued health and happiness. And they would not let her pay for her cannoli and espresso. It was a gift, they explained, for the occasion of her wedding. 

But Juliet had not bought anything for herself. She had a frenxy of buying for others but what else did she need? She had a lovely little house on a hill—filled with beautiful things from her beloved New Moon—she had dozens of dresses, including the pretty green plaid Madras she had on now—and she had Allan. What more could she ask for? She didn't need anything else—not one thing. 

As Juliet passed a shop window she stopped—and peered in—and then, after hesitating went in. A few moments later she came out with the fetching little green hat she had seen perched jauntily on her burnished head. Well, maybe she could ask for _one_ thing more. 

* * *

Juliet paid her fare and hopped off of the streetcar that stopped at the end of her street, gathering her shopping bags in her hands and starting up the hill. Forget-Me-Not Lane, it was called, and it was one of the older sections of town. Juliet was glad. It was nice but not _too_ nice—she had seen the huge new houses going up on Lombard and the townhouses that lined the city's many squares—and although they were beautiful and charming, they lacked the mystery and allure of her little house. 

She paused for a moment to admire it. It was a little, low red-brick house with white shutters and a jaunty slate roof—there were windows simply everywhere—and a window seat under each one of them. Poppies and geraniums bloomed in the window-boxes, the yard was a perfect, jewelled green, and seven tall fir trees stood in a ring around it. They were tall trees—enormously tall—next to those trees that kept going up and up the house looked like a toy. But Juliet loved the effect—it was as if the whispering trees were standing guard over them, murmuring softly to each other in the breezy twilights. The bright blue of the bay shone in the distance. The house had no name—there was only a simple wrought iron gate that surrounded it all with the motto "Forget-Me-Not" worked into the front. It was true—no one who ever saw the house could quite forget it, and no other house they saw for the rest of their lives had half its charm. Juliet unlocked her door with the old-fashioned key and stepped inside. 

The mail had come! Juliet pounced on the letters. There were postcards from her old college-chum, Alice, who was visiting Argentina on her wedding tour. Her new husband, Ramòn, was from Rio de Janerio, and Alice wrote that although his family spoke no English and she no Spanish, they seemed to get along just fine. Greta, Alice's twin, had received her B.A. with the rest of Juliet's class. At that news Juliet felt a distant pang of regret—she had hoped to get her B.A. this May, too. But then she banished it. She had Allan, and Allan was worth a thousand Arts degrees. And she could finish her classes at one of the universities in the city, if she wanted. And then she brightened—Greta's plans for her own wedding to John Lester were in full swing. Juliet smiled—she had been dead right about that one, at least. 

Joy Penhallow had had another baby—Bea wrote that David had been promoted at the law firm, and that little Linda had smiled for the first time—so Bella and Doug _were_ going to buy New Moon! They would take up residence there in September. Trudy and Blair were moving to London—Juliet had another pang at that—but Blair wanted to be close to his parents and his sister, Rachel, who had moved there. London was so far from San Francisco. But then, so was the Island—and what were a few thousand more miles? They did, after all, have airplanes and boats in this modern age.

There was a chatty epistle full of gossip from Aunt Ilse. A couple of postcards from some of Allan's friends—and the last envelope was a thick letter from Mother. Juliet walked to the bright and airy parlor and deposited herself on the broad, deep windowseat to pour over it. Dear Mother—there was nothing of especial importance in her letter but it was full of little details of the everyday goings-on of New Moon. Juliet finished the letter and pressed it to her lips—she loved her new home and she loved the darling little house that she and Allan shared, but a large part of her heart was still devoted to her beautiful girlhood home. 

She was still sitting there, in the growing dusk, when Allan came home from work. He found her there and she blinked as if one coming out of a dream and sprang forward to embrace him. 

"Allan!" she laughed. "Oh, I'm a _bad_ wife! Here it is, dinner time, and I've got no dinner on the table for you! We've no food in the house at all! You won't tell anybody how I've failed, will you, dearest? And you aren't angry?"

"No," Allan replied, and smiled himself—smiled down at his pretty wife, whose love for him he could see in her eyes. How could he be angry about anything when he had this lovely creature to come home to—this wonderful woman who loved _him_? What mattered anything else when he had that? "But weren't you going shopping today?" he chided with a grin. 

"I did—but I completely forgot about groceries! I spent so much money—and oh, Allan, I know I said we didn't need anything else for the house—but I saw this _rug—_"

"And it was perfect and you simply _had_ to have it?"

"Exactly!" Juliet dimpled. "It will go so nicely in the parlor—our sweet little house wouldn't be half so complete without it."

No, Allan didn't mind about his supper—he and Juliet hopped on a streetcar and went out to the little cafe that Juliet had visited earlier in the day. The Italians recognized her and kissed her again, and then sprang forward to wish Allan, too, much health and happiness, and to congrtatulate him on getting such a beautiful and good-tempered wife. Allan smiled at their open admiration of Juliet and said that he was still congratulating himself on that same, thing, actually. 

They had a wonderful candlelit dinner and a mandolin player came by the table and sang to them and kissed Juliet's hand. The Italians, again, would not let them pay for their meal, although Allan slipped money under the tablecloth to cover their check. The Italians found it and were quite adamant, shoving it back in his pocket and arguing in their own language. Then when Allan relented they kissed the happy couple on both cheeks, and in English wished them happiness again, and that they would have many sons. 

"Allan!" Juliet sighed on the walk home, holding his arm and looking up at the velvety night sky. "Isn't it wonderful to think that we're here and we're happy and we're _together_?"

It was wonderful, Allan agreed. And as they walked through the night he looked up at the stars and made a wish of his own: that no matter what life gave to them, it would always be that way.


	2. Miss Eppie and the War Widows

Mrs. Hepzibah Thomashaw--or Miss Eppie, as she was commonly know--was Juliet and Allan's neighbor on the right side--she lived in the only ugly house on the street, a terrible marbled-brick affair with a bulbous glass cupola on the top that looked for all the world like a wart on the end of a nose. The realtor who had let the couple into the house had told them a bit about Miss Eppie. 

"She's like a tiny old bird," he said. "She's a little, little thing, but her hair's as blue as the bay. She's a bit blind, you see, and uses too much bluing rinse. You'll likely get a call from her soon--she knows all about you by now."

"How could she?" Juliet had asked. "She hasn't even _seen_ us yet."

"She's looking out her window now," the realtor said, pointing and sure enough Juliet saw a curtain at one of the side windows move. 

"And she's a gossip," the realtor said. "She's got a tongue like the devil and a disposition to match--have I mentioned that?"

He hadn't--but Juliet couldn't believe that there was any malice in the small wrinkled face she saw at the window. Her heart went out to her neighbor. The realtor was saying right now that Miss Eppie had no friends--all of her children were long gone and seldom wrote--and she'd buried three husbands already. What would it be like to be old and forgotten and rattling around in that ugly old house with no one who cared--not a whit--about her? No, Juliet would _not_ be afraid of Mrs. Hepzibah Thomashow. 

"In fact, I'm going to march over there tomorrow and bring her a cake," said Juliet. "I bet she doesn't get cake very often--she looks too frail to cook much--and even if she does I bet she doesn't get cake like _this_."

But the next morning, while Juliet was measuring flour and beating eggs and Allan was hanging the wallpaper in the upstairs bedroom a knock came on the door. 

"Mrs. Thomashaw!" cried Juliet, offering a floury hand to the bird-like woman who was frowning on her porch. "Oh--what is it that you--we meant to come and visit you, we didn't mean for you to come all the way to us! I meant to make you a cake--I was going to bring it over as soon as it was done, as soon as it cooled--won't you please come in and sit down? I'm Juliet, Juliet Ken--Juliet Miller." 

Juliet blushed at her slip.

"If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, Mohammed must go to the mountain," quoth Mrs. Thomashaw, inexplicably. "You might have visited last night when you come in. I saw you looking over. I've had a lightbulb burnt out in the hallway for four months, count 'em, four. I ain't tall enough to reach up and change and and if I stood up on a chair and reached I'd likely fall and break my hip. Not that anyone cares. I don't want to hire a young ragamuffin to come in 'cause he'd likely pinch something or let my little pug loose. Pug's my only friend in the world--better than a thousand children I say. He can't sass back and he always comes when I call him. My, this parlor's awfully dusty. You must not have cleaned yet. Oh you _did_? Well dearie, don't fret. Some houses just _accumulate_ dust and there's nothing you can do about it."

Juliet stifled a horrified laugh with her hand. Oh--she was terrible! 

"So's I was going to ask you folks for help," Mrs. Thomashow said, settling back into her story. "With the lightbulb, I mean. Help with changing it. But on my way over I thought that my own children don't give a whit for me--why should you? But by then I was already winded and thought I'd come and sit a spell before crossing back over to my place. Well? I don't suppose you _would_ send your man over to help me?"

"I'll--go--get my husband," Juliet stammered. "I'm sure he'd be glad to help you, Mrs. Thomashaw."

"Don't exaggerate," Mrs. Thomashaw said. "Folks are never _glad_ to help others. And call me Miss Eppie. I'm old but I'm no Methuselah, child."

"I think you're wrong, Miss Eppie," said Juliet cordially. "I think that knowing you have done something nice for a neighbor is one of the best feelings. And I _know_ Allan feels the same way."

"Well, God's nightgown, girl!" said Miss Eppie. "The world'll teach you a few things, sooner than later, I expect. But I suppose I was _idealistic_, too, once upon a time." She said idealistic as one else would say, 'swindler' or 'murderer.'

Juliet went quickly to get Allan--and came back to Miss Eppie, still calm and composed. But we will never know how hard she laughed once her husband and neighbor were out the door and crossing over to see about the burned-out lightbulb--nor for how long.

"I like her," said Juliet delightedly as she watched Allan reaching out and holding one of Miss Eppie's arms for support--and the old lady shook him off like a pesky fly. Allan turned back to the house and shrugged. "She's not nice--or polite--and she said five things that hurt my feelings while she was here. But she's honest--and she's got a _tang_. I must write Mother about her right away--perhaps she could use a character like Miss Eppie in one of her in one of her books!"

* * * 

Their little house was on a cul-de-sac so they had no left-hand neighbor. But across the street from Juliet and Allan's little house was a dear, tiny little cottage. Juliet had no idea who lived there. They never saw anyone go in or out and the curtains were always tightly drawn. She meant to ask Miss Eppie about it--Miss Eppie came over every afternoon now, for tea. She was teaching Juliet how to knit, and always had some little task for Allan to do. Not that Allan minded. He rather liked Miss Eppie too, though neither he nor his wife could explain why.

She was horrified that Juliet didn't know how to knit. "Likely your ma was too busy writing _novels_ to teach you anything," she sniffed. Miss Eppie knew all about Emily Starr Kent's novels--they had been reading _Moral of the Rose_ together in the early evenings. Miss Eppie had revealed to Juliet that she hadn't read a book in fifteen years--not ever since her eyesight began to go. Juliet, an avid reader, was horrified by _that_. Imagine not being able to escape into a world of words--to no be able to while away a rainy afternoon lost in a flight of written fancy! Miss Eppie was flippant toward all novels--toward all books, really but the Bible. But she could not hide her interest in the plights of the fictional _Applegarths_ and when the book was finished she pronounced it "nice--and only a little wicked."

Juliet meant to ask her about the little house across the street right away but Miss Eppie talked so copiously that it was a few visits before she was able to work it into conversation. 

"That's Haight's Cottage," Miss Eppie said when Juliet finally asked her. "All of this land was part of the Haight estate, years ago. My house was the big house, of course. Yours was the garden house--and the house across the street was the coach-house. It's tinier than tiny, but solid and well-built. The War-Widows live there now."

"The War-Widows!" Juliet's mind conjured up a picture of two frail old women knitting together in early afternoons. 

"Yes," Miss Eppie confirmed. "There's Desdemona Cash--heathenish name, isn't it? Although yours isn't really--_normal_--either. Sounds like one of those names out of the soap operas."

"Juliet is a name from Shakespeare, Miss Eppie. So is Desdemona." 

"Well I've never read any of Shakespeare's novels, but he must have been a wicked man to think up such outlandish names," Miss Eppie sniffed back as Juliet and Allan exchanged wry smiles. "She goes by Mona, anyway, which isn't _so_ bad. The other one of the widows is Maggie O'Keefe--Margaret Mercy O'Keefe. _That's_ a pretty name."

"It is," Juliet agreed, if a bit prosaic for her tastes. 

"Better than mine," Miss Eppie said. "Hepzibah Ernestine Llewellyn, I was born. My folks had a conniption when I agreed to marry Billy Larrimore. 'Think of what the initials spell!' they crowed. They was God-fearing folks. Anyway, then I married George Oliver and I was H.E.L.L.O. And then Frank Thomashaw, which spoiled it all. Oh, well." 

"Miss Eppie, why haven't the widows been over to call?"

"Oh, they're shy," Miss Eppie explained. "Some people think it ain't right for two women to be living together in this day and age with no man. You could call on them, I suppose, but I don't know as if they'd open the door for you. The only time they've ever come to me was years and years ago, when one of their little 'uns were sick and they wanted to use my telephone for the doctor. But _I_ visit them every Christmas. They don't want me there and I don't want to be there, but I consider it part of my duty as a neighbor to call." She gave her blue curls an emphatic nod. 

Later after Miss Eppie had gone, Juliet took the plate of cookies that she was saving for Allan's supper and, with her new green hat on, walked across the street to the Haight Cottage. She must have knocked for five minutes but no one answered--though the lights were on. Juliet left the cake on the doorstep with a hastily penned note that explained who she was and then left with a backward glance.

She never saw anyone open the door, but the next morning the dish the cookies had been on was sitting on her doorstep with a simple note: _THANK YOU. _And nothing more. 

Juliet felt strangely bereft. She needed a friend. She thought of Bea and Bella and Trudy and Joy at home--and Greta and Alice--and the corners of her mouth turned down. Here she had Allan, yes, and she had Miss Eppie, but neither of them were like her old girl-friends. Juliet was friendly with Anoushka, the daughter of the Italians that ran the café, but Anoushka spoke very little English. And now here she was, almost crying because two old women across the street wouldn't open the door for her! She needed a friend her own age, who spoke her own language!

"But at least the War-Widows liked my cookies," Juliet said with a sigh. "That's _something_."


	3. An Unexpected Visit

Allan came home for lunch one summer afternoon and found his wife in a ridiculous get-up, standing on the front lawn. He paused for a moment by the driveway to watch her. 

Juliet was in her oldest, most faded housedress, and had an old kerchief tied around her head. Another was tied over her mouth, obscuring the lower half of her face. Across her eyes was still another piece of cloth, with two slits for eyeholes cut into them. Juliet seemed to have hung the rugs from the upstairs hallway over the clothesline and was beating them with Allan's old tennis racket. Clouds of dust rose up in the air and settled around her like the fog out over the bay. She had obviously been at this endeavor for some time--her hair and clothes were flour-white. 

"Say, w hat have those rugs ever done to you?" Allan called and Juliet put down her racket and blushed. 

"You look like Jesse James," Allan said, takin g her in his arms with a grin. 

"Oh, Allan, don't!" Juliet cried, squirming away. "You'll get dust all over your nice suit! They brought our new Oriental today and it's so lovely--go in the parlor and see it. And compared to it, all of the other rugs in the house looked so dirty and _used_. I've been cleaning all morning--I asked Miss Eppie for a vacuum cleaner but she didn't have one. Doesn't believe in them, she says."

Allan shook his head in laughter and started for the house. 

"There's a plate of sandwiches in the pantry," Juliet called, and resumed her dirty business. Allan watched her from the kitchen. The sky had turned cloudy and dark and the fierce summer heat had abated--at least her wouldn't worry about her keeling over from heatstroke. There was a wind picking up, too. A particularly strong gust tore Juliet's kerchief from her hair and the rug she had been cleaning suddenly rose up and took flight. It blew for a bit and then settled in the top branches of one of the fir trees. Allan laughed out loud and looked across the way and saw Miss Eppie, at her own window, doing the same. 

Across the street at the War-Widows' house, one of the curtains moved. Were they laughing, too? He gave a little wave and the curtain settled slowly and almost imperceptibly back into place and didn't move again.

* * * 

The wind really _was_ picking up, Juliet thought as she crossed the yard with a basket of clean clothes. She had finished the rugs and had moved on to doing the laundry. A line of freshly washed sheets and towels fluttered and flapped in the wind. 

A few fat raindrops splatted on the top of her head and Juliet looked up at the sky, which had grown more dark and threatening since lunchtime. A distant roll of thunder sounded and Juliet wished suddenly that Allan were at home. 

__

It's silly to be afraid of a simple summer storm, she sighed and went back to take her sheets off of the line. 

Juliet made it inside just as the sky opened. It rained so heavily that all she could hear was the roar of water hitting the roof. Thunder cracked all around her and occasionally a bolt of lightning would streak across the sky. 

Juliet turned the radio on and tried to listen to a soap opera as she did her mending. But the dialogue was drowned out by the booming thunder and pouring rain. She wanted to call Allan at the bank--but oh, how his colleagues would laugh at his little wife who was afraid of--well, of _nothing_! Except thunder, and what _was_ thunder, really, but sound?

"I _won't_ be a frightened little rabbit," Juliet vowed, stamping her foot with anger at herself. 

In truth, Juliet might have done well to be afraid. This was no ordinary summer storm--it was especially bad and had come up the coast to strike with sudden and unexpected force. After it passed the residents of San Francisco would find t hat it had dumped six inches of rain on the city, and that countless homes and offices had been struck by lightning. One of the Grandfather Oaks in the city park that had stood for almost five hundred years would be felled by the high winds. It was the worst storm to hit the area in a decade. All across town the lights were flickering and going out and the phone lines were dead, a fact that Juliet discovered when she tried to call Miss Eppie for _some_ comfort. Although she didn't expect much!

And then her own lights flickered and died. The radio went off in the middle of a sentence with a low, sad hum. 

It was as dark as night inside--and out. Juliet's hand trembled as she searched blindly through the drawers for a candle and matches. She had a whole box of tapers from New Moon--_what_ had they done with them?

Lightning streaked the sky and the air hummed with electricity. How ghostly everything looked in the sudden flashes that came and went. There were so many cubbyholes and nooks in this house--suppose someone had crept in while she was outside--and was hiding under the stairs! Someone--some_thing_--with wild hair--and red eyes--who was waiting for the flashes of darkness between the lightning bolts so that he could reach out--and _grab_ her--!

Juliet shrieked and grabbed her wrap--and flew out of the door. 

Later she would think about how foolish a thing to do that was. Later she would be ashamed of herself--but only a little, after hearing of the ravages of the storm. But right now Juliet knew--_knew_--that she would go crazy if she was left alone. She couldn't be in that house by herself any longer--she would die from fright! 

"Miss Eppie!" she screame d as she banged on the heavy front door of the old house. "Miss _Eppie_!"

There was no answer. Juliet slumped as she remembered that this was one of the days that Miss Eppie's step-daughters collected her for a lunch--they mightn't have brought her back yet. Her heart sank and she cowered as the thunder reverberated in the sky above. 

She couldn't go back home. Scarcely pausing to contemplate her options, Juliet flew across the street to the only other house nearby. She knocked on the door of Haight Cottage as if a flock of demons were chasing her down the street. 

"Help! Help!" she shrieked to the War-Widows inside. "Oh please, please, answer the door!" 

After a slight pause the door flew open and a woman with a furrowed brow stood there, looking at the dripped Juliet. She had coppery pale red hair and weird, pale green eyes that flickered and snapped. Everything about her was pale--her skin, her lips--except for her dark brows that were drawn together in a glower. "What is it?" the young woman asked irritably. 

Juliet would be ashamed of this, too, later--but she was in such a frenzy that she pushed past the woman and into the house--not waiting to be asked--and slammed the door against the storm. Then she buried her face in her hands in the hallway and cried. 

"What is it that you want?" the woman asked again, her brow still furrowed, but this time in incredulity, not exasperation. 

"I'm--sorry," Juliet sobbed. "I--was--so--afraid! I've never seen a storm like this--never in my life!" 

"Then why did you run out in it?" The woman asked, her scowl returning. "You could have been struck by lightning. Stupid!"

Juliet hid her face in shame. "Are the War-Widows home?" she asked through her fingers. "Mrs.--Cash, and Mrs. O'Keefe?"

"What do you want with them?" the woman busied herself with wiping up the water that was dripping from Juliet's coat. 

"Nothing!" Juliet cried back. "Only--they might be nicer to me than you are! They couldn't _possibly_ be any worse!" 

The woman scowled again and just when Juliet thought it was physically impossible for her to scowl further--her face would turn inside out--she smiled. And laughed. 

"You're right--I am mean," the woman said. "Who in the world are you and where did you come from?"

"Across the street," Juliet mumbled through her tears. "I'm Mrs. Allan Miller."

"You're Mrs. Miller!" the woman cried. "_I_ heard Mrs. Miller was a pretty thing. _You_ look like a drowned rat!"

Juliet just cried harder. 

"Oh, snap out of it," the woman said. "It was a joke. I'll take you to see Mrs. O'Keefe--she's in the parlor."

Juliet stepped timidly in--and was surprised to see another young woman lying listlessly on the sofa. "Where--where--are the War-Widows?" she asked. 

The figure on the couch smiled--a sweet, slow smile. She was very small and thin and had straight brown hair that was cropped short and close to her head. Her eyes were very kind and she patted the chair next to her, motioning for Juliet to sit down. 

"_We're_ the War-Widows, dear," she said. "I'm Maggie O'Keefe. And that," she pointed to the red-haired woman in the doorway, "Is Mona Cash. And you're Juliet Miller! You made us those chocolate chip cookies that time--I'm glad--so glad--to make your acquaintance. I would never have gotten the nerve up to come to you--and Mona wouldn't have gone. She doesn't trust people and I'm too shy to tell the people I trust that I _do_. Are you Juliet _always_--or are you sometimes Julie?"

"I'm always Juliet," said the owner of that name. "But--oh--_you_ can call me Julie if you wish. I won't mind." And really, she wouldn't. 

"You look surprised, darling," Maggie said, with another kind smile. "Have you been shocked by the storm? Are you cold? You're wet through."

"I _am_ surprised," Juliet said, and before she could help it the words were out. "I thought the War-Widows would be--old! You're as young as I am!" 

Maggie laughed quietly--but Mona scowled even further. 

"I'm twenty-five," she said. "And Mona is two years younger. Mona," she said, with just the hint of an edge to her voice. "How rude of us to make Mrs. Miller sit in her wet clothes. Please forgive us, Mrs. Miller. I'm not well at all today and Mona sometimes forgets her manners. Please go upstairs and get her something to change into, Mona darling. I have an extra robe in Melanie's room."

Mona hesitated--Juliet wondered if she would let the gentle Maggie order her around. But then she went and returned with a soft blue cotton robe and a pair of slippers for Juliet to change into. 

"Thank you, Mona," said Maggie softly. "Now, Mrs. Miller--but let's drop this, I can call you Juliet, can't I? I already think of you as Juliet."

"And I already think of you as Maggie," Juliet admitted. 

"Let's sit together and watch the storm." Maggie put her hand in Juliet's. "I was afraid of storms--it seems a long time ago, now--but now I like them. They're so pretty--and magnificent. And it's easier to feel safe when you are warm and inside. When you're with a _friend_. Isn't it?"

"Yes," said Juliet, looking out over the lightning show that flashed and burned in the sky. It was pretty, now that she thought of it. Maggie had been right. "Yes, I do feel safe," Juliet said. "When you're with a _friend_--it's hard to feel anything _but_."

The two women squeezed hands and their friendship was sealed forever. 

* * * 

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

Windowseat Wonderer: Thank you for the compliments! And yes, I have read The Blue Castle, but that's one I've never tried to write a fanfic about because I feel like LMM tied all the ends up there so nicely. But it's one of my favorites, too. 

Flailersrule: I will definitely try to incorporate Allan into the picture more. I'm kind of going for an Anne's House of Dreams vibe, though--where Gilbert was around and he was a central character, but he wasn't always in the picture. 

Miri: Glad you enjoyed the descriptions. But don't worry--I'll make sure Juliet finishes her B.A. and yes, there will be more about the Emily books later on. 

Heg24: Thanks for the geography lesson! I don't know what I was thinking. 


	4. Maggie's Story

Juliet's second book about her mother was published late in the summer. She received her own copy in the post shortly after, and it was still a shock to see her name embossed in gold on the cover. She had written this! It was _her_ book--with her name on it--for the world to see! 

"I might not have a B.A. but I've done _something_," she breathed in awe. 

She took her copy of _Emily Climbs_ over to show the War-Widows--well, to show Maggie really. It was Maggie's idea that they read it out loud to each other in the long afternoons. She was not getting well from her summer cold as quickly as she should have been and she had to spend many long hours indoors. Juliet didn't mind--she liked being wherever Maggie was. She was so sweet and kind, and she had such a quiet, funny sense of humor. She was _good_. All of her life Juliet had tried to be good, and it had been a struggle. But Maggie didn't seem to have to try at all. She lay on her chaise lounge, listening to Juliet with a little smile. 

It was Juliet's idea that they include Miss Eppie--the old woman was jealous of the time Juliet spent reading to her new friend. 

"Aren't Margaret O'Keefe's eyes just fine?" Miss Eppie sniffed. "Well, anyway, go to her, Juliet. I didn't want to know what happened to that harebrained Ilse's mother, anyway. "

But in her eyes Juliet could tell that she was dying to know. Maggie said that of course Miss Eppie might come in the afternoons! She had always admired Miss Eppie, though her shyness prevented her from getting to know her. 

They had two other little listeners as well. Mona's little girl and Maggie's little boy often crept in to sit with the adults and hear the story. Melanie, the girl, seemed to enjoy it immensely, and Juliet thrilled to see her listening raptly from the stairs. _She_ had made that dreamy look come over the girl's face--through the simple act of stringing words and thoughts together. Maggie's little boy, Denny, was a serious little chap of five, with straight black brows and solemn brown eyes. Juliet couldn't tell from his face whether or not he enjoyed her reading, but he was always very well-behaved. Only once did he start to fidget, and then Maggie touched his foot gently and said, "Oh, _please_ don't do that, Denny!" And the little boy stopped right away. 

Of course Mona was always there, too, to Juliet's chagrin. In the weeks that had passed, while Juliet and Maggie had grown closer together, she and Mona had drifted further apart, if that was possible. Mona was still surly and unkind, though Juliet gritted her teeth and tried to be nice to her. She listened to the story with the rest of them, but gave Miss Eppie-like sniffs at anyplace she didn't like to show her disapproval. She still called Juliet 'Mrs. Miller,' though Juliet had asked her many times to call her by her first name. And she said it with a sarcastic edge, too. Juliet tried to ignore the sniffs and the pointed, mocking look on Mona's face while she was reading, although her temper almost boiled over when, after they'd finished for the day, Mona stood and said, 

"I must get back to the chores. I've wasted _enough_ time listening to that silly story."

"Well, I think it's lovely," Maggie said, patting Juliet's hand soothingly. "Oh, Juliet, I'd love to have the _flash_, like Emily in the books did."

"She does in real life, too," Juliet said, smiling as she thought of her faraway Mother. "Sometimes she gets very quiet and still--and a starry look comes into her eyes--and a mysterious smile spreads across her face. It's as if she's looking at something no one else can see. _I've_ never had it, though."

"I wish I could," Maggie murmured, pulling little Denny close and stroking his hair absently. "Sometimes it seems that things are so beautiful they hurt--but there is always that pain there, behind any beauty or happiness. It is never _true_--it is always tinged with something dark. I don't think that could be it, do you?"

"No, I don't," Juliet admitted.

"Well I don't believe it at all," Mona said--with a smirk. "I don't believe it's possible to get anything like that. Why would you? A tree, even if it's beautiful, is still just a tree. Same thing with a brook--or a flower--they're nothing to make such a fuss over. Yes, Mrs. _Miller_, I think it's just a lot of poetic nonsense over nothing!" 

Juliet breathed in sharply. "I'm _not_ making it up," she said. "And I don't think Mother would either!"

"Mona!" said Melanie, in a shocked voice. "Of course Juliet's mother wouldn't lie! _Do_ apologize. We're so very lucky to have a real authoress--a real, _true_ authoress--come to read her book to us. Juliet, dear, you'll sign a copy for us, won't you? That would be so nice, wouldn't it, Mona?"

Mona grudgingly admitted that it would, and apologized. Juliet noticed that she always did what Maggie told her to. Why, Mona _did_ love Maggie, she realized. And she was very kind to Melanie, and to Denny. It was just people from the outside world that she was unkind to. 

"I feel terrible for intruding and making her feel uneasy," Juliet murmured, when Mona was safely out of earshot. "Maybe I shouldn't have come here at all."

"Don't, darling!" Maggie pleaded. "If you hadn't come here think of how dreary my days would be! I love you already. And Mona will love you in time--but Juliet, you must remember that her story isn't like mine. I had happiness--oh yes!--and love. Mona's is much bleaker. But I can't tell it to you--it's not mine to tell. You'll have to wait until she trusts you and tells you herself." 

"What is _your_ story, Maggie?" Juliet curled up on the sofa and stroked little Denny's hair and watched his heavy-lidded eyes close as he settled into sleep. 

"Oh, you don't want to hear about that," Maggie laughed quietly. 

"I do," Juliet protested. "You know all about me. _Please_ tell me, unless it will be too hard for you"

"Well," Maggie began, and then closed her eyes and settled deeply into her story. "I met Dennis O'Keefe when I was sixteen. I wasn't in love with him then--or at least I didn't think I was. I fancied I was in love with a boy named Abe Gregory--he was my second cousin on my Mother's side. Everyone hoped I would marry him, when he was done college. Dennis wasn't half so handsome and hadn't hardly any money but he was persistent. He hung round until my dad begged me to go out with him--just once--so that he'd leave us alone. Well, I did." Maggie smiled. 

"I didn't fall in love with him, Juliet, not then, either. He took me to a dance and he couldn't dance, either. But he was so _fun_. And I was still more in love with Abe than ever, and Dennis knew all about it, but we became friends. 

"We were friends for years, and when I was nineteen, war broke out. I know it was earlier for you Canadians. But I will never forget the day it happened for us--December 7, 1941. I was with Dennis when I heard about it and I cried and cried because it meant our world would be changing forever. That was the day he kissed me--my first kiss.

"When his lips touched mine a sort of shiver went through me. I thought nothing of it then--it was only strange--but later I knew it was because I loved him. Well, things did change after that. All of the boys our age signed up--and Abe, my cousin, the boy I loved, was the first I knew to go. And he married Mary Lindley before he went. 

"Oh, Juliet! I was _devestated_. I cried for days, I couldn't eat, I was beside myself. And when Dennis told me he was going--and asked me to marry him before he went--I said I would. Oh, it was to get back at Abe, I suppose, though Abe never cared. It was the funniest thing--we had eight days together after the wedding of perfect happiness--the purest happiness in the world. I've never been so happy before or since then. Sometimes I think I dreamed it! It _couldn't_ be real. But Dennis shipped out and I plummeted back to earth and then my happiness seemed like a distant dream. I still told myself I didn't love him. Dennis knew I didn't, either. But he promised that one day I would. 

"Of course you know what happened." Maggie gave a sad little smile. "Denny was born three months after Dennis died--was killed in battle. I--don't--remember anything about those first days. I was so upset. Everyone thought it was because of Abe--oh, Abe Gregory died in the same battle. But I didn't give a bit of care to Abe! It was Dennis, only Dennis. 

"You see, Juliet, I _did_ love him! I'd written him about it not a week before he died--and the day after I heard he was gone I got the letter back, unopened. Denny--my own darling Dennis--he never got it. I wrote a day too late for him. Well, that will teach me not to put things off!" Maggie gave a little, soundless laugh. 

"He never knew you loved him?" Juliet questioned, aghast. 

"He knew," Maggie said resolutely. 

"But how do you know?"

"I know," said Maggie, just as resolutely. "And anyway, he knows it now, wherever he is--because we're capable of knowing all things in the Great Beyond. Don't you believe that, Juliet? And our time on this little planet that we love is short--so short. I'll be able to tell him so myself soon enough."

"How did you come to be able to live here?" Juliet gestured at the walls of the cozy cottage. 

'That's the funniest part of all," Maggie laughed. "Dennis' mother was a Haight--one of the most prestigious families in the area--and we didn't know until after her died. He hadn't thought to tell any of us. He didn't think it was important! And my family, who'd thought him so poor and unworthy were suddenly so proud of him. Yes, they mourned that he was gone--or at least mourned that their chance of getting any of the Haight dollars was gone! My own Father died before the end of the war, and my Mother two years ago. I don't have any brothers and sisters, and no money. I couldn't afford to keep up our big house. Denny's mother--Mrs. O'Keefe--_nee _Haight, of course--let me live here."

"How did Mona come to live with you?" Juliet asked. "Were you friends before?"

"Ah!" Maggie shook her head. "That is Mona's own story. I can't tell you--you'll have to hear it from her, when she's ready."

Juliet trudged home with a heavy heart through the twilight. She found Allan reading at the table and deposited herself in his lap, throwing her arms around him. 

"Allan, you _know_ that I love you, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Allan laughed. "Juliet--darling--what's come over you? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I haven't seen one," Juliet said, "I've just been hearing about one. Oh, Allan, I love you with all of my heart and I'll try to make you know it everyday!"

"Maggie's story was so sad," she thought to herself, as she lie awake in bed that night. "And she said Mona's was even _more_ bleak--but I can't imagine that. I'm glad Mona doesn't trust me--if hers is any worse then I couldn't bear to hear it!"


	5. When Worlds Collide

Autumn in San Francisco was so lovely. The air was cool and crisp but it was no too cold--the trees throughout the city turned lovely shades of red and gold--at night ghostly jack-o-lanterns were lighted in windows throughout the city. And though the days were bright the nights were hazy and mysterious as a fog moved in from over the bay. It was all so beautiful that it was almost too much for Juliet. 

Juliet was over-excited anyway--because Bea was coming! Bea and David--and they were bringing little Linda! Juliet spent the better part of a week making sure that everything in the house was perfect for their arrival. She ironed all of the table linens and aired out the spare room, polished all the silverware and made sure there were big baskets of mums on the front porch. She was so busy that she didn't notice when Allan's big car pulled up in the driveway, back from the airport. 

"Jul-i-_et_! Get your bones down here!"

"_Bea_!" She flew downstairs. 

The girls hugged in the yard--hugged long and hard. They stood that way until David and Allan, who had already shaken hands, sighed and put down the luggage, and little Linda began to fidget with impatience. Finally, Juliet wiped her eyes and said, "Come and see my humble abode, Beatrice darling. Friend of my heart, I'm glad you're _here_."

"So am I," Bea agreed cheerfully. "I _think_. Who's that old crow at the window of the big, ghastly house next door? She's looking at me and tapping the glass. Oh, Juliet, she doesn't eat children does she? She looks just like the witch from _Hansel and Gretel_. David, darlingest, take Linda inside, quick, quick!"

"That's Mrs. Hepzibah Thomashaw," Juliet said. "She _might_ eat children but you'll love her." To Miss Eppie she waved back and called, "Later!"

Bea exclaimed over everything in the house, though she had seen most of it before during countless visits to New Moon. She had a list of things she wanted to do while she was here--shops she wanted to visit--places she wanted to see--she even wanted to learn to water-ski! 

They had a laughing , gay supper in the kitchen and afterwards while the men went into the parlor to talk, Juliet and Bea sat in the warm kitchen and gossiped. In the flickering firelight Juliet told Bea a secret that no one knew as of yet--no one but her and Allan--a secret that was very close to her heart. Juliet wanted Bea to be the first to know--she told her what they were hoping for, sometime next spring. 

"A baby!" Bea said. "Oh, Juliet, that's marvelous! You want a girl, don't you? Oh, don't give me that 'As long as it's healthy' spiel. You _know_ it--and I know you do! Won't it be wonderful? I hope your wee girlie--yes, it _will_ be a girl!--and mine will be as good friends as you and I have been all of these years." She kissed the top of the sleeping Linda's head as she dozed. Her hair glowed as gold as Allan and Bea's in the firelight. 

"I've been happy these past few months, but now I'm overjoyed," Juliet murmured as she drifted off to sleep in her own bedchamber sometime later. She thought of Bea and David and Linda, sleeping themselves in the little spare room down the hall. It made all the difference knowing they were near. 

* * * 

Juliet took Bea over to meet Miss Eppie and theWar-Widows the next day. Now that Bea knew her secret she was free to tell Maggie, and she did, eyes sparkling, in the kitchen of Haight Cottage. As Maggie exclaimed and embraced her, Mona, who had been lurking in the doorway, flashed her eyes dangerously and let her expression darken. 

"That was the one thing I had that you _didn't_," she said hoarsely. "You, who have a husband--and a home--and a family that loves you--and now you shall have that, too! Oh! It isn't fair--but nothing in life is."

"Aren't you happy for me, Mona?" Juliet's lip trembled precariously. 

"Happy for you! Why do you need anyone else to be happy for you? You have everything--everything--but you shan't have my good wishes. No, I'm _not_ happy for you!"

Juliet felt hurt. She had thought that things were beginning to be cordial between her and Mona--they would never be friends--and now this! But the most amazing thing was that Mona was very kind to Bea--she laughed and joked with Bea--she seemed to really _like_ Bea! 

"Why did you tell me she was mean?" Bea asked Juliet as Mona finished telling a funny story to a burst of laughter. "She's wonderful--a true kindred spirit if I ever met one!" 

"She's not--normally--like this," said Juliet, in a daze. She was glad that Mona liked Bea--but why? Surely Juliet had been just as nice to Mona over the past months as Bea was being to her now? 

"Go on home," Bea waved Juliet off after they had finished lunch at the cottage. "You look peaked--and you must be sure to rest enough now, you know that!" 

"Aren't you coming, Bea?"

"Oh, I'll be along later," Bea laughed. "Mona's going to show me some of her records. She's as big a music buff as I am--you didn't tell me that!" 

"I--didn't--know." Juliet bit her lower lip. 

"You don't mind if I don't come along now, do you dearest? You're just going to nap. _I'm_ not tired--it wouldn't be very fun for me, with the men away at the wharf. And can't you take Linda with you--it would do her good to have a nap, too."

Juliet went back to her house with Linda, feeling very left out. She could see Bea and Mona silhouetted against one of the cottage windows, their heads bent together. They were laughing. Bea's raucous giggles joined together with another silvery peal on the wind. It was Mona, Juliet realized with a start. She had a nice laugh--a beautiful, bell-like laugh. 

Juliet had never heard Mona laugh before. 

* * * 

"I loved them!" Bea flopped on the bed next to Juliet, waking her. "Even terrible Miss Eppie--she's the mean one, not Mona. Hello, sweet girl," she cooed as she lifted Linda from her crib. "And that Maggie is so sweet--but I don't know why you'd waste your time on a girl like her. She's almost _too_ sweet--it's no fun. Mona is a laugh and a half, though! I still can't believe you don't like her!" 

"Mona's never been a laugh and a half to _me_," Juliet said, a trifle peevishly. "She's always making snide remarks, and saying things to hurt my feelings. Maggie _isn't_ too sweet though. I think she's wonderful."

"When _will_ Dave and Allan be home?" Bea glanced at her watch. "I want to take you all out to dinner tonight--it was going to be a surprise. I want to bring Mona, too--and yes, your precious Maggie can come. Miss Eppie said she'd watch all the children. I suppose you _are_ right--Maggie's just sweet enough. I guess I was just surprised that she's able to be so good-tempered when she's dying of cancer. I really admire her--I don't think I'd be able to do it."

Juliet sat up in bed. "Maggie--cancer?" she heard herself saying faintly. "What--are you talking about, Bea?"

"_You_ know," Bea said, wide-eyed. "Don't you?"

"No, I don't know!" Juliet cried. "_Who told you that_?"

"Mona!" Bea cried back, tears beginning to form in her big blue eyes. "Juliet, don't _look_ like that. Surely you knew!"

"I _didn't_!" Juliet tumbled out of bed and began pulling on her shoes. "It _isn't_--it can't--be true! Mona is lying to you, Bea! Although why she would I don't know! She must be even crueler than I thought." 

"Juliet!" Bea reached for her friend's hand, but Juliet was already gone--she'd flown down the stairs and out the door, to the little house across the street. 

* * * 

Juliet let herself into the little house and closed the door with a slam. Then she whirled into the parlor--and stopped short. 

Maggie was lying on the sofa, as usual, her big, liquid eyes peering dreamily up at the sky through the window panes. Her face was very white, and her familiar little smile touched her lips. She turned her head slowly, as one underwater, at the sound and as her eyes met Juliet's gaze, Juliet _knew_. 

"Why didn't you tell me, dearest?" she said, crossing the room in two big strides, to take Maggie in her arms. 

"Oh--!" Maggie said. "Juliet, dear, don't cry. So you've found out _my_ secret, have you?" 

"You should have told me, Maggie," Juliet said fiercely, fighting back tears. 

"I know," Maggie said tremulously. "But Juliet--when people find out--I--I wanted you to like me because you liked me, not because you felt _sorry_ for me. I made Mona promise not to tell you, because I liked you so much."

"But you can't really be dying," Juliet said. "Surely someone can do _something_ to make you better!" 

"I go to the hospital once a week for treatments," said Maggie matter-of-factly. "But no, Juliet--there's really nothing anyone can do."

Juliet sat back on her heels. 

"Don't look like that, darling," Maggie sat up and smiled, echoing the words that Bea had just spoken to her. "I'm not going to die today, nor tomorrow. Not anytime soon. It _will_ happen sometime, but Juliet, I'm not afraid. I'm _not_. But fear not, dearest--there's still some life in this old girl yet."

* * * 

Juliet waited until she had closed the door to the cottage behind her before she began to cry. She sat down on the porch with a thump and buried her face in her hands. 

"Oh, stop your crocodile tears," came a disgusted voice from beside her. Juliet looked up, her eyes blurry and red. 

"You can't care that much about someone you've just met," Mona said coldly. "I detest _actresses_."

"It's not an act," Juliet said wearily. "I know you don't believe it but I love Maggie--she's my friend--and she is very dear to me." She covered her face again and her shoulders heaved. "Mona, why can't _we_ be friends?" she questioned in a muffled voice. 

"Why would you want to be friends?" Mona asked, as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world. 

"Because--" Juliet faltered. "Because, Mona, under your pointed exterior, I think there's a nice person! I saw a glimpse of her today--you were so nice to Bea! Why--why do you hate _me_ so?"

"Because you're trying to steal my best friend!" Mona roared, tears in her own green eyes. "Maggie is all I have--you have so much--she is my only friend! And you want to take her from me--you want _her_ to like you better!" 

"I don't--I _don't_!" Juliet protested. "You must believe me, Mona--I'd love to be your friend. And I don't want Maggie to like me better--I want her to like me _as much_ as you. But not more. Please, can't we be friends? For her sake?"

Mona was silent for a long while. "All right," she said unemotionally. "We can try to be friends. But only for Maggie's sake. It doesn't mean I like you. And for Pete's sake--Juliet--stop your caterwauling. Maggie doesn't like to see people cry." 

"All right." Juliet dried her eyes. 

Mona looked at her critically. "I'd say you'd better go home and change before Bea takes us out to dinner."

"Are we still going?" Juliet asked in surprise. "If Maggie's not well enough"

"Honestly, Juliet, she's not dead yet! And I don't think she will be. Not of this, anyway. I think she'll beat it, I really do." Mona lifted her chin and spoke firmly. Then she smiled--Juliet was amazed at the change in Mona's face when she smiled. "Plus, Maggie loves going out. We so rarely go anywhere. Or we didn't, until you came along. You have been good for that--and I'm grateful, I suppose. It will be good for all of us to go tonight. I really _like_ your Bea--I wasn't just pretending to make you jealous. Oh, and Juliet--wear that blue dress of yours. You're not as pretty as Miss Eppie makes you out to be, but you do look well in it. I've always wanted a dress like that. Now, go!"

With the beginnings of a smile on her face--but still a heavy heart--Juliet went. 

* * * 

Thanks for the reviews, everyone--especially marzoog and Windowseat Wonderer! (Marzoog, when are you going to update YOUR story! I'm waiting with bated breath.)

Andrea1984: Yes, Emily is still alive! Don't worry, there will be more about her later. 

Terreis: The 'Melanie' was intentional. Consider it a little homage to one of my favorite writers. Hope all is going well with your stories--can't wait to read more!


	6. The Dance at the Harbor

"It's Mona's birthday today," Bea confided to Juliet over breakfast, and Juliet couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed that Bea knew things about Mona that she did not. Weren't they going to _try_ at least to be friends? Hadn't the conversation they'd had days before meant anything to Mona? True, she _had_ been a bit nicer--she hadn't been surly at all--and she and Juliet had finally been able to laugh and joke, cautiously, with one another, much to Maggie's delight. But to not even tell Juliet about her birthday! No, she couldn't help feeling annoyed. 

"So?" she said crossly to Bea. "If Mona didn't want any of us to know it was her birthday, I don't see as though we should do anything about it."

Bea pinched Juliet on the nose--infuriatingly, at least to Juliet. Why was she so cross this morning! "You dear naïve, cynical little thing!" Bea exclaimed. "Of _course_ Mona wants us to do something for her big day! She's just pretending not to. _You_ like a big fuss on your birthday, don't you?"

"Yes," Juliet admitted grudgingly. "But Mona isn't _like_ me, Bea."

"No," Bea rejoined. "She's like _me_. And I like an even bigger fuss. I've been reading the paper all morning until you got up, lazy-bones, andI read there's a dance tonight down at the Harbor Place. I want us to all get gussied up as a group and go."

"A dance for Mona's birthday!" Juliet grumbled--and at the same time, feeling ashamed of herself for grumbling. 

"Well, that's not the only reason." Bea's eyes were warm. "Juliet, we've been to a thousand dances together--at _least _ a thousand. I miss going with you. Oh, darling, do you remember our first dance? You were almost fourteen and of course you were going with Allan--"

"And you were only twelve and weren't allowed to go," Juliet finished. "You snuck out of the house because you wanted to dance with Harper Madison, who came down with a terrible case of acne two years later but was _the_ handsomest boy around then. You thought you'd be back in bed before anyone noticed you missing, but--"

"I stole a pair of Mother's high heels and fell and broke my ankle!" Bea laughed. "I was in trouble for sneaking out--_and_ for ruining Mother's best pair of shoes! I think she was more concerned about them than her ankle."  


"Auntie Ilse has always had a thing for shoes," Juliet smiled. This trip down memory lane with Bea had cheered her. "All right," she said suddenly. "We'll go to the dance tonight--we'll celebrate Mona's birthday, even if she doesn't want us to--it'll help me get out of this funk I've been in. I feel so tired and annoyed all the time lately--did that happen to you with Linda, Bea?"

"Did it ever!" Bea laughed merrily as she pranced out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "I thought David would divorce me! I'll go tell the men-folk about our plans for tonight. Boys! Boys! We're going to a dance!"

Juliet heard Allan and David's commingled groans and smiled. Maybe--just maybe--a dance was the best thing for her.

* * * 

They took David's car because it was bigger and there was room for all of them to crowd in, the men up front and the girls in the back with their frilly dresses spread over the seat like sea-foam. Maggie waved from the window with Melanie and Denny, little Linda in her arms. Miss Eppie had promised to look in on them later. 

David was quite worried about leaving his girl--it was the first time they had ever gone out without Linda. "Do you think she'll be all right?" he asked Bea worriedly. "I hope she doesn't cry--I hope she doesn't miss us too much."

"Fiddlesticks!" Bea said. "David, if you fret over her so you'll spoil her! And Linda better learn not to be too upset when Mummy and Daddy go out for the night--I _won't_ stop going to dances just because I'm a mother! Besides, David, Linda loves Maggie. Just look at them together!"

They all looked as the baby leaned forward to plant a wet kiss on Maggie's face, her tiny hands closing around the bright ear-rings in Maggie's ears. Juliet and Allan shared a significant glance in the rearview mirror--sometime next spring _they_ would have one of those marvelous little creatures! Perhaps not so big, perhaps not giving kisses and beginning to wave bye-bye like a big girl, but just as sweet, and their _own_ to boot!

"I'm here!" Mona said breathlessly, slipping into the car. "Let's go, if we must!"

"Happy Birthday, Mona!" they all yelled raucously, and the birthday girl jumped and then glared at Bea. 

"You _told_," she said accusingly. "Oh, Bea, I told you I didn't want a fuss! So I'm one year older, so what?"

"Lock the door Juliet," Bea said calmly. "David, drive before she tries to jump out. You might not feel like a fuss tonight Mona, but I _do_. We're going to this dance, and we're going to have a good time! Come on!"

* * * 

"I _am_ having a good time!" said Mona breathlessly, her eyebrows arched in surprise, as she tripped off the dance floor and flopped down in her seat by Juliet. "Phew! I'm parched. Can I have a sip of your drink?"

"I haven't been well lately," Juliet said. "You might not want to drink after me."

"Honey, there's only one thing wrong with you and that's not catching," Mona smiled, taking a big gulp. "Good! I've _got_ to rest a bit or I'll drop down dead from exertion--I wonder if anyone's ever actually danced themselves to death?"

Juliet looked at Mona watching the faces in the crowd whirl by and was struck suddenly with a wave of--what? Jealousy? Admiration? Perhaps--both.

Mona had somehow managed to dig up a sleek satin evening gown--in buttercup yellow--and with her gleaming red hair and bright eyes she looked like a dancing daffodil. Little straps went over her strong shoulders and accented her long, white neck and Juliet realized with a flash that Mona was really beautiful! Her face was open and happy and glowing and she looked more like a girl of sixteen than a woman of twenty-three. Who knew Mona could look so well! Her work clothes must have covered up all of her beauty--_along with that scowl she's always wearing_, Juliet added silently. 

Next to her Juliet felt provincial and frumpy in her pink tafetta party dress. She had been so pale lately--and there were dark circles under her eyes--and she hadn't been able to do anything with her hair! And pink _wasn't_ her best color--she looked far better in dusky greens and midnight shades of blue. But none of her old dresses would fit, thanks to her expanding waistline, and Juliet had had to borrow this pink--_monstrosity_--from Miss Eppie's youngest step-daughter. She grabbed the tulle overskirt and fought the urge to rip it into shreds. 

"If Mona's a daffodil, then I'm--a _thistle_," Juliet thought.

"There are so many people here tonight," Mona said with a low whistle. She smiled at Juliet--she couldn't have known what Juliet was thinking or she wouldn't have smiled. Mona looked even more lovely when she smiled. "Look at that lady over there, in the fur. She fancies herself the Queen of England, doesn't she! There are so many pretty young girls here--when I was their age I was home at nights, taking care of a little baby and worrying about the daily movements of troops in Europe and the South Pacific. I feel as though I never really _got_ a youth--these girls today are lucky, aren't they? Juliet, I hope they'll never have to go through what _we_ went through."

Juliet nodded curtly, fiddling with some of the disgusting lace on the hem of her dress. 

Bea danced over with David. "Mona, the man over by the refreshments is looking at _you_!" she hissed, before whirling off. 

Mona laughed. "I couldn't care," she said. "I'm not in the market for a husband--or a boy-friend--but shall we have a look at my admirer, Juliet?"

"Sure," Juliet sighed. "Is it that fellow with the dark hair? He's been looking over here."

"No, he's waving at the people behind us," Mona answered, swiveling round. "Maybe it's that man with the poorly tied cravat? I _would _attract a man like that--there are probably crumbs in his pockets and his socks are mismatched. But I could probably love him for it--if I tried. Juliet," she said, suddenly clutching Juliet's arm. "Who--is--_that_? The blond man--over there--"

Juliet looked--and recognized the face. "Mona, are you daft?" she said, looking at her companion oddly. "That's _Allan_."

"No!" Mona breathed. "Is it really? Oh, God--in that light--he looks just like someone I used to know."

"You've seen Allan a dozen times and never noticed anything before," Juliet said incredulously. 

"No," said Mona, curt again. "It's something about the way the firelight plays on his face--his hair--his cheekbones. With his eyes in shadow like that--oh!" With a small cry, Mona lifted her skirts and dashed from the room. 

Juliet stared after her in amazement--the lifted her own skirts and followed Mona outside. She didn't know what had made the girl so upset, but she couldn't let her be by herself in this state--not on her birthday, at least! She found Mona on the pier, crying into the skirt of her dress. "Darling!" Juliet thought she heard her say. "Oh darling Barry--why did you have to go away?"

"Mona?" Juliet asked softly. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," Mona wept. "You can _go away_. I was crazy to think I could be friends with you--I can't--I _hate_ you. I've never hated anyone before in my life, but I hate _you_!" 

"But Mona--why?" Juliet cried, shaken. 

Mona would not answer. " Go away, Juliet, and let me alone--I don't want to see you again," she said, with steel in her voice and tears in her eyes. With anger flaring up in her own heart, Juliet turned on her heel and did as Mona bade her. 

* * * 

The drive home was very tense and strained. Juliet and Mona sat rigidly and didn't let their shoulders touch. Bea stared at them both as if they'd grown two heads. Occasionally Allan would look back at the women and smile and every time he did it Mona flinched as if she'd been burnt with hot coals. Only David was happy. He'd met an old college chum at the party and they'd caught up on old times. He turned the radio on and whistled along to the happy tune, too excited to notice anything wrong. 

David and Bea went right upstairs when they got home, too tired from dancing to stay up and chat. Allan went into the parlor and poured himself a drink. Juliet joined him, sitting cross-legged on the couch and letting the white, white moonlight wash over her. 

"What are you thinking about, dearest?" Allan asked, sitting next to his wife. "Shoes and ships and sealing wax--and cabbages and kings?' You have a pensive look about you."

"I wasn't thinking of anything so glamorous as sealing wax," Juliet smiled. "I was thinking about Mona."

"I wonder what made her so upset tonight?" Allan questioned. "Probably because it was her birthday--none of us like getting older. Although Mona's still very young--and looks it."

"Yes--Mona is _very_ pretty," said Juliet slyly. "She looked very well tonight, didn't she?"

"'Spose so," Allan yawned and stretched. 

"And her dress was just _lovely _on her"

"I guess," Allan said. "I'm not a fan of yellow on redheads. Plus, I like pink dresses--like that little one _you've _got on. Oh, don't hide your face--you _don't_ look ridiculous. It's not as sleek as the gowns you're used to wearing, little wife of mine, but it suits you. You look like a powder-puff. Say! There's something I've got to do!"

Allan jumped up and crossed to the radio and tuned it until he found some romantic music playing softly. 

"We didn't get to dance together once tonight--you seemed intent on being a wall-flower," he said, holding his hand out to Juliet. "Come on--let's do it now."

"Oh," Juliet said bashfully, but Allan insisted. "Fine," she finally agreed, putting her hand in his and letting him pull her into an embrace. 

They danced, Juliet leaning her head against his shoulder. As Allan twirled and dipped her, Juliet felt all of the insecurities she'd felt throughout the evening fall away. Who cared that she thought she looked _dreadful_--Allan didn't! He thought she was pretty in pink--that she looked like a little powder-puff! 

"Allan Miller, I've said it before but I'll say it again," Juliet said, with her eyes shining, feeling happier and more content than she had in days. "I _love_ you!" 

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

Rude Bob: I'm definitely working on the Juliet-befriending-a-kid angle. You'll see! And thanks for putting me on your fave list! Such a compliment! 

Windowseat Wonderer: I'm glad you like Bea! 

Elen of the Ways: Thanks for your review and I actually have two previous fics about Juliet, Juliet of New Moon and Juliet Climbs, plus an Emily fic, Emily's Path, that features Juliet and her twin, Douglas, when they were small. I'd love if you could read and review those, too--your comments are so helpful.


	7. A Forget Me Not Christmas

Invitations came from all over—from the four corners of the globe, it seemed. Everyone wanted Juliet and Allan to spend Christmas with them. Mother and Father, of course, were hoping that they would come back to New Moon, and everyone thought Juliet would take them up on their offer—she missed all the old folks so and Christmas was one of Juliet's favorite times on the Island. Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry would be spending it in Charlottetown, with friends. Did Allan and Juliet want to join them? Alice and her husband, Ramón, wrote from Detroit, where they had settled, and Greta and John Lester from Montreal. There was even a note from Trudy and Blair in England, though they knew it was a long-shot that their invitation would be accepted. 

But Juliet and Allan surprised everyone with their ultimate decision. They would spend their first Christmas together at their little home on Forget-Me-Not Lane. Their would be a laughing, gay dinner with Maggie and Miss Eppie and Denny and Melanie—and of course, Mona, Juliet admitted with a sigh. They could not keep her out of it. And then Juliet and Allan would be able to sit by their own hearth and dream sweet dreams for themselves of the New Year. 

"I will miss Doug and Bella and Mother and Father," she mused. "But Allan, this is our first Christmas together and I want to spend it in our little dear home."

"It's the last Christmas that it'll be just the two of us," Allan reminded her. "Next year..." He let his voice trail off, his eyes laden with unspoken dreams.

But Juliet knew. Next year it would be _three_ of them in the little house. They would be too busy with the baby to plan a huge meal or decorate the eaves with little twinkly lights—so they both wanted to make sure that this Christmas was done _right. _Juliet brought armfuls of holly and ivy back from her rambles, and wound them around the mantlepieces and the bannisters. They put white fairy lights up on the porch, and a candle in every window. And Allan brought home the most majestic tree—the most beautiful, regal, Christmassy of trees—the most perfect Christmas tree ever, with pine-scented boughs and broad, even branches, and "a tip made for an angel."

That was fun—and it was also so exciting to shop for Christmas presents. Juliet and Maggie went downtown every weekend and scoured the shops for treasures. Juliet bought lovely cashmere shawls for Aunt Ilse and Mother—Aunt Ilse's a flaming, flamingo pink, and Mothers a soft violet. For Bella she found a pair of satin Chinese bedroom slippers—for Father and Doug and Uncle Perry she got fur hats from the Russian tradesmen that would keep their ears toasty and warm. There were ear-bobs and books and slips of lace and toys for her friends and their children. Juliet even got something for Mona: a couple of green silk hair-ribbons. 

"A hair ribbon is such an impersonal thing to give," she said, harkening back to that Christmas before she and Alice had been good friends. "But I don't know what else to get Mona and I must get her _something_. And these will look nice against her red hair."

She was only at a loss of what to get Allan. And vice versa—because you see, as it often happens in households, 

Allan was a dog-person, and he most decidedly wanted a dog. Juliet, who took after her mother, wanted a sleek, soft pussy cat to sit by the fire and make her little house completely into a home. 

"You can't have a home without a cat," she said resolutely. "Oh, Allan, I don't see why we can't have both. A cat would be such company for me while you are away."

"A dog would be better," Allan said staunchly. "You know cats are sociable. And a dog is. If we got the right kind it would protext the house for us when we were away—it would give you a feeling of extra security."

But Juliet already felt secure in her little house.

"A cat _and_ dog would just fight—like cats and dogs," said Allan. "And cats have been known to suck babies' breaths."

"Oh, Allan, _really_," said Juliet scornfully. "You _know_ that is an old wives' tale."

"Come sit on my lap, little wife," said Allan jovially. "And tell me what kind of cat you'd get if you had your pick. I can't abide cats they way you New Moon folks can, Juliet. At home we're dog people, you know. But I know what kind of cat I'd get you if I _was_ going to get you one—a fluffy, soft Persian or a sleek Siamese. What say you to that? Is that the kind of cat you'd like to have?"

"Yes, I suppose," said Juliet. Truthfully, she thought she'd already found the kind of cat she'd prefer—the very cat she'd like to have. 

Because, for the past few weeks, Juliet had been secretly feeding a little homeless, wanderer cat. 

It was a little, scrawny black kitten with fur like coal powder and little white paws and a white tip just below his nose, like a Charlie Chaplin moustache. He'd come to her on the porch one day, mewling curiously, and Juliet hadn't had it in her heart to send him on his way without food. She'd pulled bits of chicken from the bones of the roast they'd had the night before and poured a little saucerful of milk and watched as the little cat ate his fill. Then he'd meticulously cleaned his whiskers and disappeared like a cloud of black smoke. 

Juliet had already grown very attached to him.

The little cat came every few days—once she had gone a week without seeing him and her heart had turned over. 

Surely he had been hit by a car—or someone had taken him—someone who wouldn't love him as much as _she_ did. 

Juliet knew he wasn't cold—the weather was still very mild for December. But oh, where was her little cat? She lay awake for two whole nights worrying over him. 

And then he was there the next morning, demanding food and purring contentedly as she stroked him while he ate. 

"How could anyone not want a little kitten like _you_?" she asked him. But the little cat had no answer. 

She wanted nothing more than to take him inside and have this be his permanent home. But—Allan wanted a dog. 

And Juliet supposed this was one of the sacrifices you made for love. She called a man in the country who was selling his beagle pups and arranged to have one sent in the New Year. Then she felt strangely petty and discontented. 

"Allan will probably come home with some little ear-bobs for me," she said peevishly. "I wouldn't want them—I just want my little cat. All of the ear-bobs in the world wouldn't be as dear and charming as _he_ is."

* * * 

Christmas Eve dawned rainy and cold—bitterly cold. It hadn't been so cold in the Bay area in years. They newsmen were even calling for snow. 

"I'm glad," Allan said easily. "It doesn't seem like Christmas without _some_ snow."

Juliet nodded absently, but her mind was elsewhere. Where _did_ little black cats go when it snowed? 

But her mind wasn't on it for long. She had a goose to prepare, and presents to wrap. And her little cat would have its belly full wherever it ended up tonight—Juliet set a saucer of goose out on the back steps for him. Surely he'd come around. 

She stacked presents under the tree and went over to help Maggie with hers—she was getting over a case of the flu and they had all worried over her for weeks. Though she was better now she was still weak. They made an evening of it, ending up at Miss Eppie's, where they roasted chestnuts on the fire and made marshmallow sandwiches. The walls of the ugly old house echoed with their songs and happy voices. 

Juliet fell into bed around midnight, huddling close to Allan, who had come back earlier and was already asleep. She let her eyes drowsily close, and slept fitfully for a while. 

She awakened some time later to a strange sound. 

"Allan," she whispered, shaking him. "What is that? Allan—do you hear it?"

"Wh—at?" asked Allan drowsily. 

"That _skritch-skritch_ sound," Juliet said. It was coming from the wall behind her. "It sounds—like it's coming—from inside the chimney!"

"It's jolly old St. Nicholas," Allan said with a sleepy laugh. "Go back to bed—if we catch him, he won't leave us any presents."

Juliet lay back—but there it was again! Finally she rose and flung her robe about her shoulders. 

"If you won't find out what it's about, I will!" she cried. 

She flew downstairs, Allan stumbling down behind her. They peered up through the grate. Yes, there _was_ something up there! Beyond their line of vision, in the darkness, they could see a hint of movement. 

Snow was falling in gently slanting lines outside the window, in the quiet way that only snow can.

Allan went away and returned with a flashlight, which he trained up into the blackness. Then out of the depths they heard an angry yowl. 

"It's my cat!" Juliet cried. "He must have been cold—we had a fire earlier, and he probably crawled down into the chimney for warmth. Allan—oh, reach up and pull him down!"

He didn't need to. The cat skittered down the brick walls and jumped out of his own accord. He looked even blacker, covered in soot—he sneezed—he walked jauntily around the room, investigating his new surroundings. 

Juliet caught him up and held him firmly to her breast. 

"This is _my_ cat," she said defiantly. "I've been feeding him for ages. And he's here to stay now."

Allan sat back on his heels and watched her with a smile on his face. 

"Then I suppose you don't want the white Persian I've arranged to come here in the New Year?"

"A Persian—you got me a cat?" Juliet squealed. Yes, squealed! "Oh, Allan—I thought you didn't _want _a cat?"

"I don't," Allan said. "But _you_ did."

"I got you a dog!" Juliet burst out. "And oh, yes, please send the Persian back. I wouldn't want any other cat in the world but little St. Nick here.He's the only cat for me. Allan, dearest! I can't believe you love me so! That—and _this_ dear kitty—are the best Christmas presents in the world! Is he really here to stay?"

"Yes, he's here to stay."

They went back to bed, taking the little cat with them. He slumbered peacefully at the foot of their bed, stretching his claws luxoriously and feeling generally loved and content. At that moment he was the King of Cats. 

"I suppose he—and your dog—will fight _constantly_," murmured a drowsy Juliet. 

"Oh, well," Allan laughed. "It can't be helped now."

But it must be admitted that they got along famously. By the time Allan's dog arrived the St. Nick already ruled the roost and the dog respected his domain. The little house was the picture of domestic bliss that it always was—except for the occasional incident, which really _couldn't_ be helped. For cats are cats, after all—just as dogs are dogs. 

* * * 

A/N: Sorry for not updating in so long! Classes started at my university last week and it's been hectic. Hope everyone had a really great holiday and is having a happy new year. 

Just I: Thanks for the compliments! I'm so glad you like the stories. 

Rude Bob: I'm working on it. : )

Windowseat Wanderer: You'll find out in the next couple of chapters why Mona really hates Juliet. Terreis, good sleuthing skills and you'll have to wait and see if you are right! What's going on with Chris and Will? I hope you haven't given the story up. 

Gufa: I know Anoushka isn't really an Italian name, but I love it, and wanted to work it in somehow. Somehow she just seemed to be named Anoushka, and she'll make an appearance later in the story.

Miri: If anything _does_ happen to Juliet's baby, I'll make it up to you! Everything will turn out all right in the end. I couldn't give you an unhappy ending to any of these stories because I love Juliet so. I'm pondering the Jane of Lantern Hill idea. I'll have to re-read it a few more times to see what I could do with it. By the way, I watched the movie this past week and it was so, so good!

Stay tuned for a new chapter sometime next week!


	8. To Have and Have Not

The war-widows were out for a walk, early in the New Year, trailing behind Melanie and Denny, who were running ahead, exclaiming over the early flowers and the smell of spring that was in the air, when they saw a strange sight. Allan Miller was sitting, fully dressed in his work attire, on the front steps of the little slate-roofed house that he and Juliet shared. 

"What--is--Allan doing home at this time of day?" said Maggie, whose breath was coming in short gasps. That was happening more and more lately. Mona slanted her eyes toward her friend, and said, "Let's go and see. I could use the rest. Melanie! Dennis! Come over here please. Hullo, Allan! What're you doing home so early?" 

Her tone was cordial, but there was still an undercurrent of bitterness. Ever since her and Juliet's quarrel at the birthday dance, Mona had avoided the Millers. If Maggie hadn't needed to sit for a while and catch her breath, she never would have gone over, just passed silently by without a word. But today Mona was careful to make it look as if they were just stopping for a friendly visit. Maggie had gotten so stubborn and sensitive when anyone noticed her condition, lately. 

"The bank closed early," Allan said, smiling ruefully, "And, dunce that I am, I've forgotten my keys. I've rung and rung the bell but Juliet isn't answering. Could she have gone into town, do you think?"

"The car's here," said Mona dubiously. 

"She might have walked?"

"All the way into town? In her condition?" said Maggie in concern.

Allan threw up his hands. "She's probably asleep--with the radio on, that's why she's not hearing my knocks. But I've got an idea. Melanie," he said to the little girl, "What if I hoisted you up on my shoulders. Do you think you could see into the little window above the door, the one without curtains? If Juliet _is_ asleep we can rap on that--it would surely wake her."

Melanie, a child who was used to being overprotected, agreed. She liked Mr. Miller--even though she sensed some coldness between him and his wife and her mother--and she was only too glad to do what he asked. Up she went, cupping her hands as she peered in the window. 

"I _see_ her!" Melanie cried. "You're right--she _is _asleep."

"Can you tap on the window?" Allan asked. "That should get her out of bed."

"But she's not in bed," said Melanie. "She's on the floor, at the bottom of the stairs, and her skirts are crumpled up all around her. My, she looks pale--like she's seen a ghost."

Down came Melanie--Allan set her quickly but carefully down, and for a split-second the adults stared at one another in shock. Then, before anyone could say or do anything, Mona wrapped her hand in her apron and put it neatly through one of the front windows, unlocked it, and scrambled in, running across the room to Juliet, sprawled amid the contents of an upturned laundry basket. She did look as cold and pale as death. 

"Go across the street and call an ambulance," Mona screamed to the others, still outside. "_Now_!"

* * * 

Juliet drifted in and out of consciousness. She remembered Mona bowing over her, looking at her in consternation and alarm. _Mona_! But Mona hated her. Mona wouldn't care if anything happened to her. She remembered Maggie pressing her hand as they lifted her up, her big dark eyes full of tears. She remembered Allan's white face peering down at her as she felt herself speeding along. She _thought_ she was speeding along. She wanted to ask what had happened, but she could not speak. Just keeping her eyes open for more than a few seconds was too exhausting. Juliet let her curtains close and drifted away again.

There were bright lights, and people rushing around. "She's had a bad fall," someone said, and it all came back. Grabbing for the banister, missing, and tumbling down. "I'm so clumsy," she murmured. "So clumsy, Allan"

"But she is going to be all right?" Allan asked. 

"Yes," said the same disembodied voice. Juliet couldn't place it. "But the child--only time will tell--"

It was a struggle to try to place it, so Juliet let herself drift away again.

* * * 

When she came to, she knew right away what had happened. No one had to tell her that there would not be a baby. Juliet stared listlessly out the window at the deepening twilight and would not look at anyone. She closed her eyes when the pain in her heart was too great. 

"You're lucky to be alive, Mrs. Miller," said the young doctor. "You could have broken your spine, your neck." Allan waveringly dashed water from his eyes and agreed: They were very lucky. He was lucky. His darling Juliet--and he could have lost her forever. 

Juliet sighed and said nothing more. Lucky! How could she be lucky? She was stupid--stupid--she had cost them their baby, the one they had planned and hoped for. And that very same doctor had told them there might not be anymore babies, not ever. 

Mother and Aunt Ilse both had offered to come out and be with Juliet, but Juliet told Allan to keep them away. She didn't want to see anyone. Bella, too, had offered, but Juliet felt a flame of hatred in her heart for sweet Bella, who had always been one of her best friends. Bella had her baby, and was about to have another. Bea, too. No, Juliet did not want to see either of them. It hurt her to be around ever Allan, the person she loved most in the world. He was so kind and loving to her, stroking her hair, reading to her, and saying soothing things--but perhaps, underneath, he blamed her? Juliet wouldn't blame _him_ if he did. She blamed herself. 

After a week in the hospital she was allowed to go home. Allan eased her gently onto the sofa in the front parlor, settling her amid heaps of pillows and blankets. But he needn't have bothered. Juliet's bumps would heal and her bones would knit back together. It was her heart that had been broken, forever. 

* * * 

As a member of the race of Joseph, Juliet had always been the type of person who looks forward to each new days, and savors the possibilities of what may come like they are golden beads on a silver string. But now, after her fall, for the first time in her life Juliet was afraid of the world. 

Who knew what would happen today? A thousand bad things might happen--you were just as likely to get the bad than the good. It seemed like everyone was out to hurt her. The commercials on the television that showed fat, plump babies splashing about in their bath water taunted her. She could not stop looking at the little yellow knitted booties that she'd been working on before--well, before. And just this morning, Allan had been _whistling_ as he got ready to go to work. Whistling _cheerfully_. How could he be so cheerful at a time like this? Juliet picked a fight with him, and they had parted ways angrily. 

The worst was the letter that had come from Trudy, overseas. Juliet had found it wedged in the trash can, opened--obviously someone hadn't wanted her to read it. She read it and wished she hadn't. Juliet hadn't yet written to Trudy about the baby, but Trudy had written about hers. She and Blair had had a baby girl, named Sara Marilla. 

Miss Eppie let herself into the little house one afternoon and found Juliet on the kitchen floor, amidst a pile of eggshells and coffee grounds, reading the letter she had pulled out from the garbage. Without saying a word she cleaned off the sobbing Juliet and led her gently, by the hand, to the sofa, where she tucked her in like a small child. 

"Now," said Miss Eppie. "I want you to tell me everything about your baby--everything you had hoped, and everything you had planned."

Juliet thought the words would not come but they did. She started out haltingly, but before she knew it the words poured out, and Juliet could not stop them.

"We were going to call her Imogene, Miss Eppie, if she was a girl. Isn't that the most beautiful name? I-mo-_gene_! It means image of beauty--we would have called her 'Genie' for short. I told this to Bella, practical, sensible Bella, and Bella said, 'You can have another little girl and call her that.' But I couldn't! That name has been _reserved_ for my little lost babe. Oh, Miss Eppie, I don't know for sure but I think she would have been the most beautiful baby in the world. I think she would have had great violet eyes like Mother's, and dark hair like me, and a sweet little mouth and freckled face like Allan's! No, I _don't_ think it! I _know_ she would have been."

Miss Eppie nodded knowingly, but Juliet went on.

"I hate everyone who has a baby of their own. I can't stand to hear from Douglas or Joy or Bea because I hear the babies squalling in the background when they call. And Alice has a new little son, you know! Imagine that! Alice! Maggie has dear Dennis, and even Mona has her little girl. When I read of Trudy's baby I _hated_ her suddenly--my best friend, Trudy!--I was seized with anger. When the old me would have been so _happy for her._"

Juliet tried to find a dry spot on the hanky Miss Eppie offered, but it was all wet. Miss Eppie gently took it and offered another. 

"I even wrote to Trudy," Juliet sobbed, "And I said congratulations, but my words looked so stilted and false. And then a perverse, mean-spirited part of me wrote that the baby was beautiful--but a little squashed and red looking like all babies. As soon as I posted it I was ashamed of myself--but secretly satisfied. I've probably hurt Trudy's feelings _irreparably_--and Sara Marilla really _is_ a perfect baby, not squashed-looking at all."

"I'm sure she'll understand, dear," said Miss Eppie. "Go on."

"We-e-e-ll," said Juliet. "Everyone keeps telling me not to think about the baby. 'Just put it out of your mind, dear.' As if I _could_! As if I _would_! I don't want to stop thinking about my baby--about all the beautiful things that might have been. And Allan--Allan doesn't seem sad at all--he never wants to talk--no one does--not even Mother. She talks about everything _but_ that one thing. I've never known--Mother--to not do the right thing before."

Juliet had a great long cry, at the end of which she said, 

"Miss Eppie, I'm sure no one else has ever felt the way I do, ever before."

Miss Eppie smiled--a sad little smile--and said, "I have."

"You--have?"

"Oh, yes," Miss Eppie nodded. "I've got heaps of step-children, you know that. My first husband had two--my second three--and my third four. It got worse and worse each time. But--what I really wanted--was a baby of my own. The stepchildren were urchins--monsters--they had no use for me. My own baby wouldn't be like that. I was sure of it. I lost three babies in all, Juliet. I was too hardened after that to try for anymore, and my heart hasn't been the same since. Don't let that happen to you."

Miss Eppie's eyes took on a dreamy look. "I felt just the way you did now after the first one. Only I always thought my baby was a boy. I would have named him Ross. It was my father's name. He would have been forty years old, now, if he'd lived, but I always think of him as a fat, chubby baby. I like to think that he and little Imogene are up in heaven now, playing together on a fluffy pink, sunset cloud."

This was remarkably poetic for Miss Eppie. 

"And you--never--had any children of your own?" Juliet asked. 

Miss Eppie's eyes smiled, and she placed her wizened hand on Juliet's smooth young one. 

"I have _you_," she said. "Does that count?"

"Yes," Juliet said, her own eyes moist. 

"Good," said Miss Eppie, becoming brisk and no nonsense again. "Now I've got to go. Two of my 'wicked' stepchildren are coming to take me out to lunch--for Chinese, although they know I consider it indigestible. Or so I told them--secretly, I love it. Only they think they're outsmarting me, but I'm really outsmarting them. Ha ha--not bad for an old fox." She gave Juliet a quick kiss and thought that if she'd ever had a daughter, she'd want her to be just like this velvety young thing. "One more thing--go in to your Allan. I saw him in his study when I came in, and he looked mighty low. I think you'll find that he feels a lot of what you're feeling, too--only he feels like he's got to be brave--for your sake. Think about how hard it must be for men to _feel_ things--and to also feel like that they can't let it out. Go to him. Let him know that it's all right, Juliet."

And with those parting words and a fond glance, Miss Eppie was gone. And Juliet, feeling still sad, but stronger, got up and made her way to the study to take Miss Eppie's advice. 


	9. Mona's Story

Just as Miss Eppie had suggested, Juliet went in to Allan and together they had a good cry--when it had passed Juliet found that though her heart was still heavy, something in her had lifted. 

"I won't ever forget," she said. "But I _shan't_ be afraid to dream again."

Juliet wrapped herself in her shawl and went to sit on the porch--the evening was deepening into night and the streetlights came on one by one, like huge fireflies in the twilight. It was there Mona found her, gazing into the distance at the night-shrouded trees, spinning tentative new dreams and hopes. 

She didn't notice Mona sit down beside her--she didn't notice Mona look up at her tremblingly--Juliet didn't even see Mona beside her until the girl had put her own hand on top of Juliet's, pulling her back from her place in the clouds. But Mona, who was already very ashamed of herself, thought Juliet was ignoring her--and why shouldn't she? Mona was quite aware of how sulky she'd been these past months--and quaked in her boots. But screwed her courage to the sticking-place and said, 

"I have come to apologize."

Juliet landed back in the real world with a thud, but smiled and gave a small laugh. "There's no reason to apologize, Mona dear. _I_ should have come to thank _you_. If you hadn't broken that window and come in to me, I could have died--too."

She said this matter-of-factly but there was an edge of tears in her voice. Mona felt even more ashamed. 

"I _have_ come to apologize," she cried. "And--to confess! Oh, Juliet, I know I've been a _brat_ to you these past months--my behavior was unforgivable. And--Juliet--when I first heard you were going to have a baby I was so jealous--I prayed that--that something would happen--and it did. You already had so much! I had so little. It was wicked--wicked--and I don't expect God or you to forgive me. I'm sorry, now. When I saw you in a pitiful heap on the floor I knew right away what had happened--and that it was my fault." Mona buried her face in her hands and wept, expecting a torrent of fury to be unleashed upon her--or else a calm, deadly silence. But there was neither--Mona heard something else--Juliet was laughing. 

"You blamed yourself!" she sighed. "And I blamed _my_self for what happened--and Allan blamed himself--and Maggie told me she even blames _her_self for not coming over earlier to see why I hadn't called. Mother blames herself for letting me move so far away, and Aunt Ilse blames herself for not hiring us a nurse. Doug blames himself for not _knowing_ something had happened to me--but Mona! I've realized something: it's _nobody's_ fault."

Mona lifted her head. "But--it was such a wicked prayer--!"

"It _was_ wicked of you," Juliet said gently. "But do you really think that God would listen to such a wicked prayer? What happened would have happened whether or not you had wished it so. Mona, I do forgive you. And I want to say that I'm sorry as well. It's so--I mean, it _was_ so easy for me to forget that not everyone is as happy as I am--or was. I've always been guilty of that--of flaunting my happiness like a diamond ring, oblivious to how those around me feel. It's a very bad habit. Mona, I'd like to be your friend. No more of this sniping and backbiting. Let's just _like_ each other, and not fight. It's as simple as that."

"All right," Mona agreed simply. "I already like you--and I always have. But now we're more equal somehow--now that we've both lost something we loved. Juliet, I want to tell you my story. It's long and it's sad, but it's all I can give you to let you know why I behaved so. Will you listen to it?"

"Yes," said Juliet. 

* * * 

"I met Barry Ashbury when I was just a little, little girl--younger than Melanie," Mona began. "We went to the same school--St. Agnes's--only he went there because the Ashbury's are one of the best families in town, and I went for free because my Father taught history there. He wanted me to get the best education possible, and thought that because we all wore uniforms, no one would notice if I didn't have as much money as they did. But they did, of course, and laughed at my scuffed shoes and hand-me-down blazers. I would have been better off if Papa had just sent me to the public school down the road. It's not like I did anything with my education anyway." Mona gave a bitter laugh. 

"I didn't have many friends," she went on. "Except for Barry. He was a year ahead of me and very smart himself--but I still trounced him in a school geography bee. He was so angry to have been beat that he threw a fit and kicked the wall afterwards--and then turned to me and said that he was going to marry me one day. He said I wasn't beautiful--I'm not--but he couldn't abide stupid women and I was the smartest girl he'd ever met. Only," Mona laughed, "he made me promise that I'd let him look smarter when we were out in public."

"Well, anyway," she continued. "Obviously the Ashbury's didn't mind when their small son said he was going to marry the poor Cash girl--he was only a boy. But he got older--he became a man--and he kept saying it. I was still smart as a whip, and I'd gotten beautiful to boot. That's what Barry said. The day I turned eighteen he proposed. That was in November 1941. 

"A year later, war broke out. The Ashburys were already in uproar about our engagement, but Barry wouldn't break it off. He wanted to enlist--I didn't want him to--but they pushed him into it. No one expected the war would be as bad as it actually was, and Barry's family thought if he was far away from me, he'd lose interest. He'd come home and marry a girl better suited for him, and I'd marry a boy better suited for me. 

"Barry wouldn't marry me before he went because he wanted to prove his family wrong--he thought he'd come back--and he wanted to show them that even though he'd been away he hadn't forgotten me, he still loved _me_. But Juliet--I already felt like he was my husband--I know it was wrong--but I _couldn't_ let him go without showing him how much I loved him. I was afraid. He was my only love. I thought he would come back, too, but I was so afraid. _You_ wouldn't have done such a thing. 

"Barry didn't come back. He was killed in the Pacific, in the Philippines, only a few weeks after he went. And then everyone saw that I was going to have a baby and oh, I was so disgraced. The school kicked me out. The Ashbury's said that--that the baby wasn't Barry's. My own parents--they were good people, Juliet, but you have to remember that it was _such_ a disgrace. They threw me out, too--it was mostly my mother's doing. And then Papa died, and I knew Mother wouldn't take me back. 

"Melanie was born and we lived in--in a shelter. For unmarried mothers. It was terrible--I had no one. That's where Maggie found me--she volunteered there after her Dennis died. Everyone was gossiping about me, wondering who the father was. No one believed it was Barry. But Maggie--dear, wonderful Maggie--took me in and let me live with her. 

"When Melanie got older, it was clear that she _was_ Barry's girl after all. She has those clear blue eyes, with the flecks of gold--those are the Ashbury eyes. And a dent in her chin that's just like his. People started talking about that, and Mrs. Ashbury--Barry's mother--met with me, in private, and gave me a sum of money--but I couldn't tell anyone the truth. She didn't want to talk to me ever again. The money was to be used to take care of my daughter--and Barry's daughter. So I'm a millionaire, Juliet, but even still I have no one. I have a brother, you know, we're twins like you and Douglas, but when my mother died he didn't even tell me. He didn't want me to go to the funeral--he was ashamed of me. 

"So that's my story and a very sad one it is, and I can see you're crying and I'm sorry, Juliet. But I wanted you to know why I hated you at first-- I was jealous of your happiness. I thought you would take Maggie from me. It was wicked of me to treat you so. But when Maggie dies I'll have no one in the world--except Melanie--who cares about me!"

Juliet sat in silence for a while, but her hand crept over and covered Mona's trembling one. 

"You'll always have me, dear," she said. 


	10. Possibilities

And, as Miss Eppie had promised, the world righted itself after that. Everyone found themselves sad at times, of course, but it was a very productive series of months for all the friends on Forget-Me-Not Lane. Miss Eppie, remembering her own lost little babies, spent more time trying to make amends with her indifferent step-children, and learned that they were really quite dears, in their own secretive ways. Mona surprised them all by going back to school at the City College.

"I was always good at art," she said, flushed and triumphant. "It will take me years to get my degree--if I ever _do_ finish--but I'm going to try." Juliet helped her along this new path by giving her old books on painting that Father sent. The time when Mona wasn't studying or under the tree, drawing, she spent making up for lost time with Juliet. Nearly every morning there was a small parcel on the front steps of Forget-Me-Not cottage. Most of the time it was something very small, like a pressed flower, or a bouquet of pretty leaves, or some homemade blueberry cobbler, but Juliet treasured each little gift as if it were a string of pearls from the Queen of Sheba.

When Allan felt himself getting down, instead of moping or losing hope, he threw himself into his work. He got two promotions in as many months!

"He's making heaps of extra money," Juliet wrote to Bea in one of their long, frequent letters to each other. "Only-- we have no real use for it. It would have been--different--if we had a baby"

"So find a use for it," wrote back the ever-practical Bea.

Juliet _did_--she remembered what Mona had said about the home where she and Melanie had spent so many months, and every week wrote a tidy check to one of the Girls' Homes near the harbor.

There was money spent on visits--Juliet paid for Bella to come and visit for a few days--though thankfully she left Embeth--and she and Douggie's newest baby, called Julie, at home. Juliet did not think she could stand being around a small, new life when her own arms were so bereft. Alice and Greta visited, too, a week apart.

Juliet had finished her third book in the series about Mother, _Emily's Quest_, and could not find the heart to begin another. Instead she took long walks down in Ghirardelli Square where she had spent so much time in her first few months in town. She spent hours chatting with Anoushka, the girl who worked in the Italian café, and Elena, the daughter of the Greeks who ran the import shop. Most of the conversations were spent pointing and laughing, since Juliet spoke no other languages besides a smattering of French, and the foreign girls' grasp on English was less than good.

Which gave her an idea. Juliet had managed to communicate to Anoushka that she wrote stories. "I love to read them," Anoushka responded haltingly. "In my language, I do all--always. But I no able to read yours--" She spread her arms wide in a gesture of helplessness.

"You should go to school, Anoushka," Juliet told her.

"Where is time, for that?" Anoushka shook her glossy head again. "I work, in daytime; in nighttime, school is closed."

The wheels in Juliet's pretty head began to whirl. Suppose she were to give lessons once a week--maybe twice--in the evenings, to teach these bright girls to read, and write and speak in English? Anoushka was brilliant--she could even go to college! And with the extra money Allan was bringing in, Juliet would have enough to cover books and paper and the like--the girls wouldn't even have to pay!

She invited Anoushka to come, and Elena, and put up a small notice in a few of the groceries. By the end of the week she had her class--a group of immigrant girls who were smart as tacks and eager to learn. Miep, born in Bavaria, was a big girl with an easy smile and the most wondrous shining ropes of hair wound around her head. Soo-Yin, a Korean girl who worked in one of the fish markets, was quiet and sleek and had the most gorgeous black eyes. And then there was Colette, who was Flemish, and tiny and delicate, and Nwama, an older woman from Botswana, who had skin the color of coffee beans and was as eager to learn as the younger students.

The girls made wonderful progress, and at the end of every lesson Juliet would sit on the porch with a shining face, planning out what she would teach the next week and thinking of the roads of possibilities that were opening up for her new friends as she watched.

"Doing things like _this_," she told Allan, gesturing at the open books left on the table, "Is the same as having children, really. Both are wonderful things to do--and both make such glorious things _possible_."

Though Juliet was adamant that the girls save their money for books of their own instead of paying a few, those good, generous souls never came to the little house empty-handed. Each brought something. In just a few short weeks, Juliet had amassed a whole pantry of fresh tomato sauce; trays upon trays of baklava; buckets of fresh cream and Bavarian cheeses; yards of Belgian lace; wonderfully pungent Korean herbs to use for cooking; and a collection of small, strange idols carved out of the wood of a rubber tree. But more importantly, she gained a purpose. And, of course, new friends.

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The only one of them who didn't seem to flourish as weeks went by, was Maggie. She was paler and thinner than ever. Juliet worried about her and consulted daily with Miss Eppie about her health. She read magazines on medicine and wrote long letters to Dr. Jem Blythe, who was doing wonderful things on the treatment of cancer and who was Trudy's uncle. She bought tea from the Chinese druggist, made from the bark of some foreign tree, which was supposed to boost energy. She cooked delicious, yet healthy meals, to try to tempt Maggie to eat. When that failed, she cooked heaps of pies and cookies to try to do the same thing.

Nothing seemed to work.

As a last resort, Juliet visited all of the churches in town--not just the Presbyrtarian one that she and Allan went to. All of them, even the synagogue and the Buddhist shrine. In each one she said a little prayer.

"Oh please, God," she lisped like a child. "Help her to get better."

Fearing that was asking too much, Juliet amended herself. "I mean, help _me_ to know what to do to make her feel better--happier. Please, God."

No answer came for quite a while. Maggie did not perk up. Juliet began to fear that the end would come very much sooner than they all had expected. She went over to the War-Widows every night that she did not have a lesson to teach, and told funny stories about her students--her "girls"--or else read anecdotes from her letters from PEI.

It was during a reading of one of those letters that the answer to her prayer finally came.

Juliet was engrossed in a description of a freak early snowfall on Lofty John's bush--somehow, even though Mother owned it--the earlier name had stuck. The letter was written by Mother of course. No one else could write so thrillingly--as if one were seeing it instead of reading about it. Juliet was so engrossed in the words that she almost missed Maggie's small sigh.

"Oh, how lovely!"

Juliet paused and looked up.

"How lucky--you are!" Maggie said. "To come from such a place! _Dear_ New Moon--I feel like I know it--I wish I could see it-- just once."

An idea started way down in Juliet's toes and flashed toward her head. "Maggie!" she cried. "Would you like to take a trip--with me--to New Moon?"

"Oh, I couldn't!" Maggie said.

"Why not?" Juliet clapped her hands in delight. "Mother's been on me to visit for ever so long--and I still haven't seen my little namesake--her christening is in November and I'm supposed to be there, since I'm to be Godmother. And, oh Maggie, this is perfect! Allan has to work that week and I do so hate to go alone. Please, _say_ you'll come. Do!"

"But who will watch Denny?"

"Mona will--Miss Eppie will take him when Mona's in class. I know she will. She already watches Melanie those nights."

"Oh, I couldn't, Juliet. He'll get too lonesome. I've never left him alone before."

"He won't _be_ alone, Maggie!" Juliet stamped her foot--her old impatience showing through. "And it will only be for a week. It will be good for him--character-building."

"But I haven't any good clothes--"

"What do you need them for, at New Moon? But," said Juliet hastily when she saw Maggie's face fall, "You and Bella are the same size, just about--I'm sure she'll have a nice dress to lend you if we go to a dance."

"A dance!" Maggie breathed, reverently. "I haven't been to a dance in so long--!"

And Juliet knew she was hooked.

"I'd better call Bea and make sure _some_one's having a dance, around that time," she thought. "It won't be much fun for me, without Allan. But if Maggie wants a dance--then a dance she shall get!"

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Maggie wasn't as afraid of the plane as Juliet feared she would be. As it began to taxi down the runway, Juliet, who fancied herself very brave indeed, clutched her armrests. This was the worst part! But Maggie clapped her hands like a delighted child.

"I always thought I'd be the kind of person who traveled," she confided to Juliet. "But I never got the chance before--Dennis and I went to Salinas for a night after we were married--that was our honeymoon. But I've never been anywhere but that and San Diego! Oh, look at those clouds! How fun this is!"

She said the same thing on the ferry from the mainland, and when Uncle Perry picked them up at the station, Maggie insisted on driving with the top of the coupe down--so she would be sure not to miss a thing. Instead of complaining about the cold, Uncle Perry did as she asked and then turned the heater on full blast. He seemed to know without knowing that there was _something_ about Maggie--or perhaps he was just charmed by her.

Juliet hadn't told anyone about--about Maggie. And the cancer. Maggie had begged her not to. "I want them to treat me like _me_," she said. "Instead of an invalid."

"They won't," Juliet said.

"They will," Maggie said staunchly. "Anyway, I don't want anyone to know!"

Perhaps Maggie had been right. Uncle Perry definitely wasn't treating her like an invalid now! He and she were laughing and bantering in the front seat as Maggie asked him about all the upcoming events that week.

"Well the christening is on Sunday, before you girls leave," Uncle Perry said. "Aunt Ilse wants to have a dinner for you tonight--I told her it was too soon, better to let you get settled in--and so it's tomorrow. There's to be a 1920s theme--she's done up the dining room as a speakeasy and there's a password to get in. Bea wants to take you shopping in Charlottetown--oh and there's a dance day after tomorrow!"

"A dance!"

"You bet. The Ladies Aid is putting it on. Bea joined up with them last year, did I tell you? Anyway, we don't usually have many dances this time of year--usually save them for the Christmas season. It was a very last minute job--but Bea convinced them all that we simply _had_ to have a dance _this week_. Something about keeping up morale. It's very strange, I tell you."

Maggie squealed--yes, actually squealed--and started asking Uncle Perry what dances on the Island were like. Were there many people? Did they all wear fancy dresses?

Juliet leaned back in the seat and listened to her prattle. Good old Bea! She always came through.


	11. Home to New Moon

How New Moon had changed! It took Juliet several days to realize the extent of the change that had come over that dear old place. But after her first flush of welcoming and the excitement of being back, she was free to wander her old haunts and exclaim in wonder--and sometimes sorrow--at the ways they had altered.

For instance, the Today, Tomorrow, and Yesterday Roads had switched places. The Tomorrow Road had become lovely--it was now the Today Road. Douglas had cut back the trees on the old Today Road--it was now the new Yesterday Road. And the old Yesterday Road had been planted--Juliet did get a thrill thinking about how lovely it would be Tomorrow.

"All this talk of Yesterdays and Tomorrows--it makes my head spin!" laughed Maggie when Juliet tried to explain to her--yes, laughed!

Maggie did a lot of laughing at New Moon. She laughed at Uncle Perry's jokes and at the silly paintings Father had done for little Embeth's bedroom. She laughed at Mother's funny stories and Bea's gossip--she laughed while helping out in the kitchen and pouring over needlepoint with Aunt Ilse. Sometimes she laughed over nothing--the best kind of laugh.

"I love your New Moon, and all its inhabitants," she told Juliet fiercely.

And they loved her! Mother, who was working on a new novel, changed her heroine from a feisty, spirited girl to one with a sweet, strong temperment like Maggie's--with one dear curl that dropped down over her eyes, like that maiden's. Father reflected that he really must paint her--the girl had a face like one not from this world. Douglas found her an interesting conversant about the woods and trees, and quiet Bella found an easy ear for talking about child-rearing. Bea was grateful that Maggie never made her feel bad about gossiping--and Aunt Ilse told everyone that would listen that Maggie had an impeccable sense of style--it was inborn. She could look like a queen even in an old shirtwaist, her only adornment a circle of mums in her hair.

Juliet--who had been known to be jealous--didn't mind being eclipsed by Maggie. Having her around made things _so_ much easier. When old, catty Mrs. Drew asked when Juliet and Allan were planning on having children--a curious gleam in her eyes the whole time--Maggie squeezed Juliet's hand and changed the topic and that little gesture helped her to bear it. She made a fuss over Little Juliet--but not too big. And sometimes, despite her best intentions, Bea said tactless things.

"Linda! _Stop_ dragging little Perry by his arms! He's your brother, not a toy! I swear, Juliet," Bea's honey curls danced as she tossed her head. "Children are such a hassle. Sometimes I feel like I could just _kill_ them!"

Juliet's eyes grew very large and blackly-blue and Bea stammered, "Oh. I mean--I--"

But Maggie took charge. "It's quite alright Bea, don't make it worse by talking of it more. Girls! Do you know what I fancy? A sleigh ride. Let's call over to Ingleside and see if Jake Blythe will bring his sleigh and take us out!"

Yes, Maggie was fond of sleigh rides! She was also fond of long afternoon rambles in Lofty John's bush, and climbing up and sliding down the frozen sand dunes on the shore. Juliet had never seen Maggie outside so much--not in all the time they had known each other!

But sleigh rides and the wide outdoors were not the only things Maggie was fond of, Juliet reflected. In fact, Juliet thought, as her keen eyes watched Jake tuck Maggie into the front of the sleigh next to him--though all three girls could easily have fit in the back--it seemed that Maggie like the driver of the sleigh more than sleighing itself. She slitted her eyes toward Bea, and saw her own suspicions mirrored there.

"She could do far worse than Jake," Bea whispered. "Oh! A love affair! How _exciting_! Juliet, what if they get married?"

Juliet stared at Bea. Had she forgotten what she--knew--of Maggie?

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The dance that no one had suspected ended up being a success. The Ladies Aid wondered why they had never had a dance in November before. It was such a long, cold month. This gave them something to look forward to.

True to her word, Bella had had an array of dresses to lend to Maggie. With Aunt Ilse's help, they decided on a mossy green silk. "You can keep it," Bella said, admiring the pretty Maggie. "After all these babies, my waist is to thick for it anyway."

"It's not--but it will be, soon," said Aunt Ilse as she pinned. "Have they told you, Juliet, that they're having another in the spring?"

"Another?" Juliet laughed. "But little Juliet's only five months old!"

"The winters are very--long--here," said Bella, flushing crimson.

They all knew what she meant and laughed.

"I didn't want to say anything to you, dearest," whispered Bella to Juliet when Maggie and Aunt Ilse had gone to the mirror to do their hair. "I'd rather--die--than upset you in any way. Do say you're happy for us? I couldn't bear to have you feeling sore or bitter toward me."

"I _am_ happy for you," said Juliet, and found she meant it. New Moon had had a healing effect on her soul. It gave her hope, and made her able to dream again. "Only," she added with a grin, "It's so hard to think of Doug--my little brother!--being a father to _three_."

"If it's a boy it will be Dean after Father," confided Bella. "If it's a girl we're naming her Nancy after Great-great aunt Nancy Priest--I never met her myself but I always felt like I knew her, from Father's stories."

With a happy heart Juliet collected Maggie and Bea and left for the dance.

Juliet had expected to be a wallflower the whole night, but many of her old school chums were there--they asked her to dance. Blair and Trudy King were home until the New Year and Juliet and Blair danced together many times. It _was_ funny, the way time altered things-- she and Blythe had a good laugh together over their old love affair.

"When all the time Allan was there under my nose!" Juliet giggled. "What a goose I was!"

"I thought I'd always remain a bachelor after you pitched me over," Blair groaned in mock consternation.

"_You_ pitched _me_ over, Blair King!"

"Ah, but only because I knew you were destined for greater things as Allan Miller's wife. Does he tell you how pretty you are at least once a day, Juliet? If he doesn't he's a fool."

"He tells me _twice_ a day," Juliet laughed. "Sometimes more."

"You are looking very dear," Blair conceded. "You never wore much pink in our running around days--mostly blues and greens, they suit your smoky eyes. But pink makes you look like a flower--and in it your cheeks look like poppies. Yes, you look very well, Juliet, but you aren't half as dear as my Tru over there. I'm going to abandon you and dance with her."

"Do!" Juliet insisted. She wasn't at a loss for partners--as soon as Blair had whirled away, Teddy Wright stepped up to take his place--then Walter Blythe--then one of the Drew boys--then she lost count.

In fact, there was only one of her old chums who did not dance with her _once_. Jake Blythe spent the whole night at the shoulder of a small, lithe girl in green. Everyone wondered who she was--surely they would have noticed a face like that before! But no one dared to pull her away from Jake--for she was meeting his eyes with a soulful glance as if he, too, were the only one in the room.

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"I've had such a wonderful time," Maggie sighed from her featherbed later. "My feet are blistered and sore--I wore a hole in one of my silver slippers--someone spilled a glass of punch on Bella's dress--and I lost one of my mother's earrings. But I'd gladly sacrifice all of those things to do it again. I haven't had such a good time in ages!"

"I'm so glad, Maggie!" Juliet blew out her candle--somehow the old New Moon tradition of using candles had persisted even after the war--and snuggled down into bed next to Maggie.

"I noticed," Juliet couldn't help saying once she was cloaked in the velvety darkness of the room, "That _Jake Blythe_ seemed to have a marvelous time as well."

"He did," said Maggie evenly. "He told me so."

"_Did_ he!" said Juliet archly. "Bea and I were right, then! He _does_ like you."

"Oh he doesn't like me," came Maggie's voice again. "He loves me. He told me that, too."

For a moment it had been like the old days with Bea, where they slept over at each other's houses and talked of the nights events--dresses that had been worn and boys that had courted them. But the atmosphere had changed somewhat.

"He--did?" said poor befuddled Juliet. "Oh, Maggie! What did you tell him?"

"When I was little, there was an etiquette book in Mother's drawing room with a whole chapter on how to respond to a man who said he loved you. I used to think it was so silly--if you loved a man, you should say it back! But of course I couldn't say that to him. So I said, 'Why, thank you, Jake. That's awfully kind.' Just like the book said."

"Poor Jake!" Juliet gasped, with a giggle of horror. The situation was--so ridiculous. She thought back over what Maggie had said and asked, cautiously, "Maggie--you--don't love _him_, do you?"

"I don't know," said Maggie, shocking Juliet into silence. "It's nothing like it was with Dennis--and we've only known each other for a week! But--I think I could love him--if I were given the chance. He said if I moved back here he would marry me, and build me a big house on that sandy cove near the Blair Water. We're going to visit it tomorrow--I'd like to see if even if I'll never live there."

Maggie's voice trailed off, and poor, stunned Juliet lay in bed, her heart beating wildly. Why, it wasn't _fair_! Maggie was young--so very young--and she should have the chance to find a lifetime of happiness wherever she looked. Perhaps it had been wrong to bring her to New Moon and to let everyone believe that she was fine, and not sick at all. It just set her up for such disappointments! People were dangling dreams and hopes in front of her like carrots before a rabbit and then snatching them away.

But in the moonlight, Maggie's sleeping face looked peaceful and untroubled and there was a hint of a smile.

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Through the trees Juliet could see a light was on at Evensong. Without thinking, she got up from bed, pulled on her coat and slippers and flew off toward the kitchen of that house, where she knew Mother was waiting up.

Mother was indeed waiting up. She was seated at the kitchen table she and Dean Priest had picked out for this house so long ago, doing a crossword puzzle and drinking tea. When she saw Juliet she did not look at all surprised--it was as if she knew that she would be coming. She simply got up and poured Juliet a cup of tea of her own.

"It's cambric," Mother said with a funny little smile. "I find it funny that as I get older, I prefer cambric tea to the 'grown-up' stuff. When I fought against my Aunt Elizabeth to not have to drink it anymore! Wherever she is, Aunt Elizabeth's having a good laugh about this now." She had a small laugh at the memory, but Juliet did not laugh.

"I have to--tell--you something," Juliet began haltingly. "About Maggie."

Mother's soft eyes urged her to go on.

"She's--" Juliet gasped. It was so hard to say it. "She's--"

"Dying," Mother finished when she saw Juliet could not get the words out.

"How did you know?" Juliet whispered.

"I--overheard you talking," Mother said.

"We haven't talked about it, Mother," said Juliet. "Tell me really--how did you know."

Mother looked at Juliet a moment and decided to tell her.

"When I first took her hand," Mother said, "It was so very cold--and I looked into her eyes and I saw it there. And I knew."

"Oh, but how?" Juliet cried. "How could you know?"

Mother shrugged. "The same way I knew where Ilse's mother was--in the old well. The same way I knew that the little boy was in the house on the Malvern Road--the same way I knew Teddy should not sail on the _Flavian_. The same way you knew Allan was safe during the war."

Juliet shivered and did not speak.

"And now," Mother smoothed back Juliet's hair. "I can see that my girl is wondering if what she did was cruel--bringing Maggie here where there is so much life. You think that it was wrong to have us treat her like she was going to live. Juliet," Mother smiled, "Do you remember when you broke the gazing ball that hung for so long on the chandelier?"

"Yes," said Juliet. "I picked it up because I wanted to take it into the garden and look at it there--and dropped it on the walkway--and it _shivered_ into fragments. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"I remember how carefully you picked up all the pieces and stared at them before we put them into the dustbin," recalled Mother fondly. "You knew we couldn't put it back together--but you wanted to look into that fairy mirror once more before it was gone from you forever. It is the same with Maggie. Her life will never be whole and her possibilities are limited, but you have given her a chance to live as a normal girl again. To have fun, and make friends, and to have someone's arms around her and soft words whispered into her ear. You have," Mother finished, "Given her the most precious of gifts. Laughter and life and love. She will never forget it--and neither will you."

"Maggie is so much braver than me. She's not afraid of dying--she faces it with courage. But I--I'm so sad, though, Mother," said Juliet, and her face made Emily Kent's heart turn over because she looked for all the world like a little girl.

"I know, darling," said Mother to her child. "You have had such a happy, carefree life--not as happy and carefree as mine, because of the war, and of losing Uncle Dean and your own little baby. But you have had beautiful moments when you were young enough to enjoy them, and sorrow is life's tax on those beautiful moments. Would you trade any of those moments to relieve this sorrow you feel now?"

Juliet thought back over her days at New Moon. "No," she said. "I wouldn't."

"Now," said Mother, "It's late, and you are tired. It's started to snow--look at that smattering of flakes. You can't walk back in those slippers--come and lay with me on the sofa and we'll watch them fall. I've missed you, missed my girl."

Juliet reflected, as she dozed off to the muffled sounds of snow falling, that nothing really seemed so bad when Mother was near. And Mother reflected that she would gladly give any of her own happy moments to save her little girl one moment's pain.


	12. The Passing of Days

"It was sweet–so sweet–to be at New Moon, but it is just as sweet to be _home_," Juliet remarked, sitting on the porch at Forget-Me-Not cottage, with Allan and Miss Eppie and Mona and Maggie around her, and the remains of a large, festive meal on the picnic table before her. That was one of the perks of living in California–even in November, when lovely New Moon was cloaked in snow and frost, the weather here was as cool and balmy as Indian summer.

"Home?" Allan queried, with a smile. "I remember you saying that you still thought of New Moon as home."

"Wherever _you_ are is home," said Juliet. She realized now that something had been missing from her visit to the Island, and that something was Allan. New Moon wasn't the same without him. She gave him a look of such deep adoration that Maggie smiled, remembering the moments she had spent with Dennis, and Mona shivered, thinking of Barry. Miss Eppie thought about each of her three husbands and thought, with satisfaction, that they'd all been good decent men–but she wished at least one had been as handsome as Allan Miller was, looking at his little wife now.

Maggie had taken heaps of pictures of New Moon and its environs with the Kodakchrome that Allan had lent her and the whole group poured over them in the deepening twilight. Juliet sat back and let Maggie explain each one–she put on such airs having been to Juliet's ancestral home! "That? Oh that's the Tomorrow Road," she'd say casually, showing the photograph to the others. Or, she'd say to Juliet, over dessert, "This must be Aunt Ilse's recipe for pumpkin pie–oh the rest of you should taste her pies! They're like preserved sunshine!"

Allan stifled a giggle at that. _He_ knew the secret recipe for his mother's pies–that they came from the bakery counter at the grocers's. But--

"I'll be sure to tell her you liked them," he said seriously.

"How old Bea looks!" he remarked a moment later, taking the photograph that Maggie held out to him.

Now it was Juliet's turn to stifle a giggle. Oh, Bea would be so angry if she had heard him say that!

"Bea has two children that run her ragged," she admonished him. "When we have two children to keep up with, Allan dear, will you say _I_ look old, too?"

Allan looked at his slim, slate-eyed wife and thought that no matter how old he might get, she _must_ remain the same lithe, ebullient figure that she was now. Even if she had _twelve_ ragamuffin children to run after!

"And here's Little Juliet." They all crowded around the picture of the dimpled, happy baby in her christening gown. "Doesn't she look like Bella?"

"I rather think she looks like Uncle Dean," said Allan pensively. "The same queer gray-green eyes--the crooked little mouth--"

"How interesting," Mona remarked, resting her head on Melanie's dark hair, "To think that this little baby will one day be an old lady–with grandchildren–she might be a teacher, or a writer or a lawyer, or the first female Prime Minister of Canada, but she will always be a baby in this photograph. What if there were baby pictures of Moses–or Methuselah–or Homer? Think of _that_."

They did–and each one of them shivered in the twilight–not unplesantly, though–when they beheld in their mind's eye the swift, unstoppable passing of time.

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A few weeks after they got home, Juliet awoke with a deep, satisfied, _expectant_ feeling in her soul She knew exactly what it meant–but told her news to only Allan in a whispered, happy conversation before their Christmas hearth. There was no need to tell anyone else–not yet, when it might turn out as it had the last time–but Juliet felt in her heart that it wouldn't. Still, it was such a dear secret to just keep it among her very nearest and dearest. She did tell Mother, in a sweet, laughing letter, and Mother wrote back a letter of her own, that Juliet and Allan laughed over and tucked away, to be read in years hence, when they could see if what she wrote was true. The funniest thing of all was that when they _did_ look back over it–it all was true! Oh, how could Mother have _known_?

Juliet was too busy to worry. Her Ladies' Reading Group had been making progress in leaps and bounds. Before Christmas they put on a play for the War-Widows and Miss Eppie, all of them memorizing lines from and dressing as characters in _Alice in Wonderland_. They had asked Juliet to be Alice, but she declined–and Soo Yin took the part instead. She made such a haunting, other-worldly Alice. Miep gave a jolly rendition of the White Rabbit, and Nwama was such a terrifying Red Queen that Denny, who had consented to play the part of the Pig-Baby, was afraid to go near her!

"Soon they won't need me anymore," said Juliet sadly after the play's success. She had grown to love–and _like_–each of the women. She would be sorry when they went on to bigger and better things--real schools–universities–and proud, too, but she had grown to love their cozy evening lessons.

But there was no danger of the classes stopping altogether. More and more girls were signing up for the classes–Anoushka brought her myriad cousins and Nwama all of her eight daughters. Some were strangers who heard from word about town. And all of this new class insisted on paying a wage–they were good, honest people who knew that what Mrs. Kent was offering them was something worth very much indeed. And even when her old class had moved on, Juliet found they would not forget her–the little cottage was often full of visitors of all shapes and colors, and when the new class put on a play of their own, her old pupils were the ones who made up the gladdest part of the audience.

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"What are you thinking of, under your dear golden hair?" asked Juliet to Allan one day in the New Year. She had finished cleaning the spare room for Bea's upcoming visit and was now looking to sit down by the fire and have a good cuddle with her man. How lovely it was to prepare a room for a friend! Juliet had folded back the covers on the spare room bed carefully, invitingly, and put out purple towels--purple was Bea's favorite color--and lavendar sachets in the drawers of the old bureau. There were padded hangers in the closet for Bea's pretty dresses and soap shaped like seashells on the sink in the bathroom. Juliet admired her handiwork and left the door open--every time she passed it seemed to exclaim to her, "Bea is coming! Why, she'll be here before you know it!"

But she found Allan in no mood for cuddling. He stared moodily into the grate, where flames were leaping happily and furiously, all at once. His very posture said _Keep away_. He was slouched in his seat, his shoulders hunched up, with a very worried look indeed on his face.

"What is it, Allan dear?" Juliet asked him, perching on the floor at his feet, but Allan only sighed and said,

"Oh Juliet, Juliet, how--darned _confusing_ it is to be a grownup." And offered nothing more.

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__

He has shut me out before, Juliet wrote to Bea. _Back after the war, when he didn't want any of us to know the pain he was in. But this is _different_, Bea, I can sense that whatever's bothering him now isn't exclusively his trouble, and that he'd like to talk to me about it, but won't let himself. And that makes me even madder! He knows he should tell me--he knows he's being crabby. He left a bouquet of winter roses on the table for me after not saying one word to me the whole of last night. And Bea, he gave me the most beautiful cameo for Christmas--but he knows I hate cameos. I think they're ugly and hard and morbid. Doesn't he know me at _all?

"Men are like that," was what Bea wrote back. "When you've been married as long as me, you'll see. Go charge heaps of goods in the shops and get something nice for yourself. That always makes me feel better when David and I row."

Juliet was exasperated. Bea was missing the entire point!

She tried to pen a letter to Mother, pouring out all of her feelings. _He used to be so loving,_ she wrote._Could it be that we've just settled into the routine of being married, Mother? Perhaps the--spark--has gone out of it for him. Maybe he doesn't love me anymore!_

But she crumpled that up and then threw it in the wastebasket. Mother and Father had been married for years and _years_ and they still loved one another. The spark was still in it for _them. _She, Juliet, would seem like such a failure if she had to admit that her husband didn't love _her_ after only _one_ year!

Likely she was just overreacting. All husbands and wives had quarrels and periods of unease and unrest. Even the best of them did! Soon this black cloud would pass and Juliet would laugh over how foolish she'd been. But still--

"Right now I'm so blue I could cry," said poor Juliet--and sat down on the kitchen steps and proceeded to do just that.

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A/N: Where are you guys?? Thanks for the reviews I did get. They mean so much to me. You guys write the BEST reviews and I'm glad you are liking the stories.

Miri, Jake Blythe is one of Faith and Jem's sons. Hope that clears things up a bit.


	13. Allan Speaks

When Allan's close-mouthed grimness had gone on for a week, Juliet thought she would go mad. But whatever Murray pride she had in her made her harden her heart and shut her own lips firmly. If _he_ was going to treat her with such aloofness, well, she could do the same! Oh, but it was awfully hard to stomach dinners like this one, where the only sounds were the silverware clinking against the plates and the hiss of St. Nick as Allan's over-friendly dog stumbled into his territory.

"But at least _someone_ in this house is being friendly," Juliet thought, as Allan's dog loped over and placed his shaggy head in her lap. Oh, she desperately wanted another helping of potatoes but she _wouldn't_ ask Allan to pass them. We will never know if Allan wanted the carrot pudding as much as Juliet wanted the potatoes, but Juliet, suspecting he might, moved it a bit closer to herself, knowing that he would not ask, either.

The pettiest things gave her such pleasure! She knew it was a pet peeve of Allan's when she left the soap on the sink in a puddle of water, but now she laid it sopping in its place with great satisfaction. She very meticulously sorted their laundry, did her own things, and left Allan's in the hamper for him to do himself. She might be his wife, but she wasn't his _slave_. Although she couldn't keep that up for very long--the day she saw Allan go to work with an old, faded cotton top he'd had in the PEI days tucked into his dress pants, she relented. And washed and ironed and folded his clothes very nicely--but then put them in the wrong places. Allan was so meticulous about where he put his clothes!

It must be said, though, that Allan did not seem to have any particular malice toward Juliet, though she did toward him. He didn't leave fingerprints on the mirrors, which she hated, and he always put the newspaper in the bin when done reading it, instead of leaving it sprawled out on the table like Father did at home.

"I wish he _would_, though," Juliet said fiercely. "That--at least--would show he _cares_."

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The great freeze between them went on for so long that Juliet was surprised into a wide-eyed shock when Allan rolled over in bed one night and said,

"Does the name of Barry Ashbury mean anything to you?"

Juliet started, first at hearing his voice, and then at hearing the name that she did know. She had not told Allan Mona's sad story--well, not all of it--just the bare bones details of it. She had been in love with a man that had gone off to the war and he had died. "Barry Ashbury," she breathed. "Allan--why--what--?"

Allan sat up and flicked on the light. His hair was rumpled. He put on his glasses and rubbed his shoulders wearily.

"Come downstairs and put on a pot of coffee," he said. "I have something I have to tell you."

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"We've been in a state of frenzy at work," said Allan, wrapping his hands gratefully around his coffee mug, and then he proceeded to tell Juliet about the whole thing. How their bank branch in Hong Kong had had a sudden withdrawal of money from an account that hadn't any activity on it in years. How the account belonged to a man that everyone had presumed dead for almost a decade--and how that man had really been in POW camp the whole time, how last Tuesday walked into the branch with a letter from the US embassy, proving he was who he said he was, and asked for a great sum of money to be taken from his account. A small portion of it he would use for his fare to get home to the States.

Desdemona Cash was listed on the account information as the beneficiary of his estate.

"And that man was Barry--Mona's Barry?" said Juliet tremblingly.

Allan said, "Yes."

Juliet felt overcome by a torrent of emotions. Shock--horror--joy--and awe. "Why, Mona must be beside herself!" she cried. "And she hasn't said--anything--to me about it! About him being found--about him being not dead!"

"You mustn't tell her, Juliet," said Allan, catching her wrist as she was about to fly out of the room. Juliet stared into his liquid brown eyes in bewilderment.

"What! You mean she doesn't know?" she laughed. "I must go and tell her then--you must go and tell her--right now!"

Allan shook his head, again, grimly. "It's classified information," he said. "I could lose my job for telling her, Juliet."

"You can't mean you'll keep this from her!"

"It's not my place to say until everything is finalized," said Allan. "There's paperwork to be done. And what if this man _isn't_ Barry Ashbury after all?"

"You just said he was!" cried stricken Juliet.

"Letters of identity are hard to get without proper authorization," said Allan. "But this man could be an imposter. Barry Ashbury is legally dead. His death certificate is on file at the city hall. He has to come in person to have it nullified. The only person that can be notified until then is his next-of-kin--and that is his mother."

"His mother!" Juliet was beside herself. "Oh, she hates Mona, she won't tell him, and Mona will never know. Mrs. Ashbury will tell him that Mona is gone--that Mona has moved away, and maybe married, and forgotten him. Oh Allan, when you were missing it was so horrible for us--for me--and we were so joyous when we found you weren't dead! Mona has thought he was dead for ever so long--and now, to find he is alive again--!"

"I know that she loves him--still," said Allan. "But the sad fact of it, Juliet, is that Mona cannot know--not yet. She might have had his child, but legally she is nothing to him--because she was never his wife."

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A cold veil dropped over Juliet's sudden happiness. Just a few moments ago her biggest worry was that she and Allan seemed to be quarreling--and now this! She was torn between her husband's wishes--she did not want to break the law--but also her heart told her that she could not sit on this information without saying a word to her friend.

"I don't hate you," she said to Allan, "But I hate _this_. And I hate that you told me when there is nothing I can do!"

She flew up the staircase to the little-used tower room, where they stored boxes. It was not heated and so it was very hard to use as an office or a sitting room in the winter. Juliet threw herself on the old, plush sofa that had been there when they moved in and wept until her eyes felt raw and dry. When she had cried herself out at the unfairness of things--of the world--the first light of morning was creeping over the horizon. Tiny white dots of sails swept over the harbor as the fishermen headed in to shore from a night's work. Juliet pictured them--the tired fishermen--who would be weary and sore but glad to be going to their homes, where their wives waited up for them, and children slept, still, snug in their beds. There would be a groaning breakfast on their tables. From the kitchen Juliet could hear sounds of Allan moving around and knew that he was putting his own breakfast on the table. She stretched and pulled her wrapper more tightly around herself, getting ready to go down herself. But as she stood, there was a sudden blink-blink-blinking of the lighthouse beam on the opposite shore as it went out for the day. The flash of it touched Juliet's heart--and brought an illumination to her soul.

"I shan't hold this against Allan," she said. "He was right to tell me. And I won't tell Mona--yet--no matter how badly I want to. She has thought he was dead for so long--what is a few more days, until everything is certain? If I told her now, the shock would probably kill her. No, I'll wait."

She reflected.

"Our Sunday school teacher used to say that one of the ways to be a good Christian was to practice self-control--which is one of the things I have never been good at--I will practice it now. But oh," Juliet said forlornly, as a light came on across the street in the War-Widow's cottage, "It will be so hard!"

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A/n: How's that for a twist? Longer chapters coming soon--thanks for the reviews!


	14. What Once Was Lost

Mona, Allan, and Melanie went out to the stores one pearly morning in early summer--when the fog was still on the bay--a cool, clean morning, luminous as a pearl. It was Juliet's birthday the next week--Mona was determined that she would buy her a new hat. Allan would help her pick it out. Juliet didn't often wear hats but when Mona Cash had been a child her mother had gotten a new hat every year on the anniversary of her birth--and to Mona forevermore would a hat be a birthdayish thing. And she had seen the most alluring little blue-green cloche that would look adorable on Juliet's shining hair--but then, everything looked adorable on Juliet. Still, she wanted Allan's approval. Later they would go to the jewellers and Mona would help Allan pick out something shining and golden. No cameos this time--Mona was thinking of emeralds, as green as the heart of a summer day.

It was early but already the city was bustling. By the time they got to the milliner's the line had grown so long that when they came out it was already noon. Mona tucked the box with the hat in it under her arm and she and her companions went smilingly to the little Italian café Juliet and Allan were so wild about. They ordered coffees and a happy, chattering Anoushka showed them to a table--a special table right by the window--one that she had been saving for them. While Allan read the paper and Melanie rested her feet and played with her paper dolls, Mona sipped the bitter liquid and peered into the throngs of people passing by outside.

One man, taller than most of the others, paused to peer in--his eyes caught Mona's own--they widened--he stared a moment longer, then shook his head and hurried on. But Mona was still peering after him. She rose--flushed and paled in rapid succession--trembled--she had to hold onto the table until her knuckles turned white so she would not fall.

"What is it?" Allan asked in alarm. "You look as though you've seen a ghost!" But his voice did not register to the perturbed Mona.

"Mother?" asked Melanie, frightened and wide-eyed.

"Barry! Barry!" Mona cried. It was part-way between a wail of grief and a trumpet of victory. Then she let go of the table and slumped, unconscious, to the floor.

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"It _was_ him" said Mona through white lips to Juliet. It was later that afternoon and the sun came through the window and rested on her red-gold curls. She looked like Joan of Arc--firm and resolved to do battle. "Maggie says my mind was playing tricks on me, but Juliet. _It was him_. I've thought I've seen him before--there was a time when I thought I saw him in every crowd. But this time I swear I was not mistaken--he was there. You must believe me. It was!"

Juliet reached under Maggie's bedcovers and clasped her hand. The weight of the secret Allan told her had rested heavily on her heart for weeks now--she felt it moving to her lips--it was on the tip of her tongue--so she spoke it. She looked over at Allan first, and his eyes told her she might.

"It was him," she said. And then she told Mona everything.

When she finished she expected Mona to burst into tears--or at least to rail at her for keeping such a secret. But Mona did neither. Her face grew more and more radiant until she looked as if she would burst into flame. Her lips turned up tremblingly in a smile--her eyes grew wide and amazed. She looked like a woman stricken with joy.

"Mona--dearest--say something," Juliet begged. The poor girl was probably in shock--Juliet wondered if they should call a doctor. But finally Mona spoke.

"He lives!" she called to the world, triumphant. And then her face crumpled like paper and the tears finally came.

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"Put on your new hat," said Mona when she appeared in the kitchen of Forget-Me-Not the next morning. "I want you to wear it out today."

Juliet paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. She noticed that Mona was not wearing her usual attire of a shirtwaist and skirt. She looked very well--she was wearing a dinky little blue seersucker suit--smart buckled shoes--a swell little straw hat was perched on her head. She looked young and glamorous--the lines around her eyes and mouth were gone and her face looked like that of a girl. "Where are we going?" Juliet asked warily.

"Mrs. Thomas Ashbury--that's Barry's mother, darling--is having a brunch this morning to raise funds for the Bay Area Ladies Recitation Group--all are invited to attend. So--we're going to."

"I didn't know you cared a whit for the Ladies Recitation Group," said Juliet slowly.

"I don't--they can all fall into the sea for what I care," said Mona archly. She crossed her legs and swung her foot in its little shoe. Back and forth--back and forth. "But I heard from Sarah Pierce--she's the housekeeper at Ashcroft--that Barry's staying with his mother until he gets back on his feet. He's bound to be there, so I will, too. And _so will you_. _Please_, Juliet, I can't go alone."

Juliet pressed her lips together. She had a terrible feeling of foreboding. There was bound to be trouble if Mrs. Ashbury saw Mona there--and Barry...well, if Barry had wanted to see Mona, surely he would have called? But then Juliet looked at Mona's radiant face and picked herself up from her seat.

"Give me two minutes to get dressed," she said. "Then we'll go."

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Ashcroft was a beautiful house--and quite as big as New Moon. Maybe even bigger than Priest Pond, and certainly grander. Sweeping white columns flanked the front door and Juliet could see a massive chandelier sparkling in the front hallway.

"But overall it is a charmless house," she thought. "New Moon has more charm and allure in one of it's windows than this house has altogether."

A maid in a starched white uniform opened the door. "Miss Cash!" she said in a whisper. "Oh--oh the missus won't like that you're here--!"

"Then the missus can throw me out herself," said Mona in a strong, loud voice. "She won't make you do her dirty work this time, Sarah Pierce."

Juliet signed the guestbook primly--_Mrs. Allan Miller_. But Mona inked her own name with broad, sweeping strokes. Then the two women swept into the dining room, where every action stopped. Women turned and stared. Forks raised halfway to mouths and then froze. A lady with a bust like a ship's prow--obviously Mrs. Ashcroft, decked out in furs and pearls--pearls! In the middle of the morning!--was distracted while pouring a glass of champagne and it bubbled up over the rim and onto the tablecloth. Mona saw none of this. Her eyes were fixed on the one man in the room, a man with golden hair and pale, creamy skin--a man that could have been Juliet's Allan's twin. He was standing by a window smoking a cigarette and he turned when all the action in the room stopped, a puzzled look on his face.

"Hello, Barry," said Mona, rapturously.

"Well, hello, Dez," said he. And then, "Will you all excuse me, please? I think I'm going to go out for some air."

And that was all he said.

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It was torture to see the look on Mona's face. The light had gone out of her eyes, and every muscle in her body had gone slack. She had given up--the fight had gone out of her--it pained Juliet to see her so.

Mrs. Ashbury was too polite to confront her and so far no one had asked them to leave. It simply wasn't the way things were done. But Mona and Juliet were ostracized in other ways. No one spoke to them, or even glanced their way. Juliet was fiercely glad she had come--she had a vision of Mona sitting alone on the couch while everyone else snubbed her, and her heart turned over with fury.

"Please, darling, let's go," she said to Mona after too much time had passed.

Mona looked as if she might protest--for a second a gleam of spirit played across her face--but then she sagged, defeated again. "All right," she agreed.

No one bade them farewell or thanked them for coming. Or even seemed to notice they were going. But as Juliet pulled the door shut behind her, she heard a buzz begin to pick up in the room of women.

They picked their way down the front path in silence. Juliet couldn't take that silence--it was too heavy and oppressive. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mona beat her to it.

"I _thought_ he loved me," said Mona quietly. "But perhaps I made too much of it--we were only children--and it was so long ago. I feel ashamed for being so disappointed--surely if I really loved him, it would be enough that he is alive--and safe? Juliet--mayn't we ramble through those gardens before we go? I have so many happy memories--Barry and I used to tryst there--I just want to go there once more to say--goodbye."

They walked through the gardens of Ashcroft like wandering ghosts. They _were_ nice gardens, full of roses and peonies, with the smell of lavender everywhere.

'There is a little bench over here where Barry and I--oh!"

Juliet and Mona turned a corner and beheld a tall figure sitting on that very bench.

"Barry! I--Juliet--please--"

Juliet pretended not to hear Mona and marched forthrightly up to where Barry Ashbury sat.

"Hello," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm Juliet Miller--I believe my husband Allan is a sort of colleague of yours. It's awfully nice to meet you. And--" this said archly, "I believe you know my friend, Desdemona Cash."

She was determined he wouldn't ignore Mona--she would make him speak--even if they did not like what he said.

The man--Mona's Barry--raised the crystal-cut glass he held to her. "So you've kept your name, Dez," he said appreciatively--and bitterly. "You always were a modern little thing. Well--good for you!" He drank.

"Barry--I am so glad--I want to wish you--I'm so glad you are _safe_!" said Mona, her eyes burning like hot coals.

"Are you?" said Barry, not sarcastically, but as if he really wanted to know. "I'm not--I wish I _was_ dead, after all. I saw the headstone Mother put up for me in the churchyard--it's grand, isn't it? And I've heard reports of my funeral, also grand--but I had to spoil it all and muddle it up. The things I've seen--" At this he removed his glasses and put his fingers over his eyes and pressed hard. "There is nothing to erase that--though when I was in the camp, Mo, your face came close. But there's nothing for me here, now. Let us part ways with a kiss, though--for old times sake?"

"No--no," said Mona, the passion seeping back into her voice. "I don't want a kiss for old time's sake."

"Well, then," said Barry, rising. "We'll just part ways. Give your husband my regards." His voice was cool.

"My--_what_?"

"Your husband," said Barry, looking flustered now. "The tall man I saw you with--when I passed the café yesterday--"

"That was _my _husband!" Juliet burst out, understanding now. Oh, it all made sense. Barry had seen them and thought--well, what else could he think? "Mona isn't married--she isn't!"

"But what about the child? I saw you with a little girl, Dez--and you, Mrs. Miller, don't try to tell me she was yours, too. She is the spitting image of Mona at that age."

"No, she is mine," Mona said. "But Barry--you really don't know? She is _yours_, darling! She is _yours_!"

The glass he was holding fell to the pavement and melted into a thousand pieces. Mona flew to him.

"Her name is Melanie--she is seven years old, she'll be eight in August--she is beautiful, and she says the funniest things that sound like you--she's so _smart_, Bear, honest she is--she has the most delicious little curls on the back of her neck--oh, you'll love her and she'll love you, she will!"

"I have a little girl," said Barry with an amazed smile. He sat down uncertainly. "I have a little girl?"

"You have a little girl." Mona knelt by his feet and clasped his hand.

"And Mo--you don't have anyone yourself? No husbands--no boyfriends--?"

"There is no one but you," said Mona, and he touched her hair. "You have me, too--you always have--Bear, when I thought you were dead, I was dead too--but now you are living and so am I!"

Then rich, prosperous Barry Ashbury slid off of his seat onto the ground next to poor Mona Cash. He kissed her again and again and cried into her neck, and whispered into her ear many, many declarations of love.

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I can't believe that I left this story for so long. I apologize--and hope you'll review. This was a fun chapter to write.


	15. Light and Dark

_Mona and Barry are to be married in October,_ wrote Juliet to Bea, a smile of satisfaction on her face. _They could be married sooner but they want to get to know each other all over again--they don't want to rush in to anything, Mona says--but it's obvious they are very much in love_. _Oh Bea! This is like something out of one of your soap operas--aren't you glad about it? _I_ am--and Barry really is the nicest fellow. He is one of the race that knows Joseph and he and Allan have become fast friends_. _I know Allan is happy to have another man around--he was growing so tired of being always with us women. He and Barry are always together--and they really do look so much alike!_ _The other day Barry was sitting at the table and I ran in and, thinking he was Allan, threw my arms around him. When he turned around I jumped back about ten feet--but he just laughed and laughed. _

_Barry is furious at his mother for the way she treated Mona when he was 'dead.' He won't speak to Mrs. Ashbury and she is beside herself with grief. But--she deserves it. She really was horrible to Mona. And Barry _dotes_ on Melanie. The child is always in his lap. She loves him as much as he loves her and the whole thing makes my heart so glad_.

_I'm getting ready for our new arrival--it won't be long now, will it? How the time does fly. Miss Eppie has been crocheting up a storm and Maggie--_

Juliet put down her pen. She did not know how to tell Bea that Maggie was doing worse--she crumpled the letter and threw on her shawl and went out and across the street to see for herself.

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Maggie was sitting on the sofa, propped up with cushions, when Juliet crept in.

"Oh, dearest!" Maggie stretched out her hand. "I'm glad you've come. I was just thinking of you--Juliet, there is something I want to ask you."

"What is it?" Juliet dropped a kiss on the thin, wasted cheek. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Don't look so scared, Mags."

"I want to be buried in the cemetary of the Methodist church, overlooking the sea," said Maggie dreamily. "My mother and father are buried there, you know. Mother--dear Mother--her face seems very _near_ to me today. You'll see that I am--and will you sometimes come and talk to me, when I am there? I'll listen--and it will be _such_ company. And will you bring me the first of the white lilacs, in spring? If you're able."

"Of course I will, Maggie," said Juliet. "But please, don't talk as if you are dying--"

"Juliet." Maggie's eyes were gentle but her voice firm. "Let us not pretend any longer. There are things that need to be arranged--I know it and you do, too, darling. Don't you?"

"Yes--oh, yes," Juliet admitted. "But still, Maggie--it hurts."

"And I want to ask if you and Allan will take Denny," said Maggie without any preamble, "When I am gone."

Juliet sat back on her heels, the breath gone out of her. "You want us to--take--Denny?"

"I want you to adopt him--when I am dead--and raise him as your own. You know I haven't anyone else to take him, Juliet--and even if I did, I'd still want you to have him. Mona and Barry and Melanie have more money, but they are just becoming a family and shouldn't have to deal with a young interloper--and I want him to be raised like you--with all the New Moon traditions and trappings--will you take him, Juliet?"

"You know I will," said Juliet, stifling a sob. "I love him already and I'm honored--but Maggie--I don't know what I shall do without you!"

The girls threw their arms around each other and cried.

"He was the sweetest baby," Maggie wept. "He had the most lovely dark hair and the biggest, dewiest eyes, like a fawn--he looks like his father--and he is so sweet and gentle. Juliet, you'll make sure the world will be good to him, won't you? And Allan will teach him how to be a man--how to be strong and gentle still. Juliet--Juliet--you will love my boy, won't you?"

"I will," Juliet cried. "I'll love him as much as _I love you_."

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One fine September night, in the very wee hours, before the sun had even dreamt of coming up, a midwife stepped out of the little cottage on Forget-Me-Not Lane. She was a fine, stout lady, strong and placid and calm, which is what made her such a comfort and help to the mothers she was assisting. She had helped many babies into the world--sweet, lovely babies--but never any babies as beautiful as the two she had welcomed into the world that night at that little cottage. She got herself a taxi and went home, thinking with satisfaction that it really had been a good night's work.

Allan Miller had given her a kiss when she presented him with the first of his two new baby daughters, and when she had handed him the other, which was identically perfect, she thought he would bend her backwards with delight, so happy was he. Luckily, his arms were already occupied by the two squalling bundles.

"They're perfect," Allan announced, placing one of the girls in his wife's arms when she awoke. It had been a long, hard night--once or twice he had been afraid for his dear wife--but now that it had passed all was beautiful with the world again.

"Look at her face," Juliet said in amazement. "She has fairy ears like me and Douglas, too! Oh, Allan, they are _roses_, our girls. We lost one child, once--but now we have gained _two_. A twin having twins--it's hilarious, it really is."

"Which one will be Stella?" Allan asked. "That is the name we had picked out--and _what _will we call the other? We should make them draw straws for it."

Juliet studied the faces of her daughters--identical in features and sweetness. The baby Allan was holding had a freckle like a sunburst on her neck. "That one is Stella," said Juliet. "It means star and she has been kissed by a star. The fairies have ordained it."

They made a long list of names for the other. Emily--Ilse--Beatrice--Aileen--Laura--Elizabeth--Rose? Autumn--for she had been born on the first day of autumn. But none seemed to fit.

"Allan," said Juliet suddenly. "A light is on in the War Widow's cottage--something is wrong. Please--go and make sure nothing is wrong!"

Allan would have run to the end of the earth just then if his wife had asked him to, so he went. When he came back a while later his face was streaked with tears--different tears entirely from the happy ones he had been crying earlier. He went to Juliet and took his little daughter from her arms. Not Stella--the one they had not yet named.

"Her name is Margaret," he said. "Juliet--oh, Juliet. Maggie is gone."


	16. Homecoming

Sometimes, Allan Miller reflected, life was a mystery after all. He had a hard time figuring it out--not for lack of trying. The merry, impulsive Allan of days of yore had mellowed after coming home from fighting--he spent more hours pensive--not sad, but dreamy.

He had seen many dreadful things in his short life, had Allan, but still was not able to give up on the idea that God would figure it all out in his own way. They missed Maggie dreadfully. Why had she been taken? But God had seen to that--he had given them two baby girls to keep their arms and hearts and minds occupied. The sting of missing Maggie was not as great when they were cuddling a soft, smiling babe to their chests.

Denny came to them after the funeral. They had done up the room next to the nursery for him. He was hesitant at first, but he loved Uncle Allan and Aunt Juliet, and his mother had told him to be a good boy. He was a solid, unruffled child and he had the same otherworldly quality that Maggie had had. He seemed exempt from human emotions--he did not seem to be part of this world.

Allan loved coming home in the evenings now--to see his wife by the fire, knitting, rocking the cradle which held Stella and little Margaret with her foot. Denny would clamber in his lap and take Allan's spectacles off and place them on his own head, and peer around with great, wide eyes. The doctor who delivered the girls had said it would be best not to try for another baby. So though Allan loved his girls with his whole heart, he had already begun to think of Denny as his son. And he was glad he had a boy.

Mona and Barry were married as planned--the wedding was more subdued than they had wanted because they all missed Maggie so. But it couldn't help but be a merry affair. Mona seemed to have sprung into life and behaved in a way they had never seen her. She was so _happy._ The soloist sang, at their ceremony:

_I once was lost_

_But now am found. _

_Was blind, but now I see!_

And it sent shivers up their spines.

Melanie stayed with Miss Eppie during their honeymoon--a month-long tour of Southeast Asia. They were only just back, and had moved into the house Barry bought for them--a stately, white-brick home, full of charm for a large house--but all the way across town! The War-Widows' cottage was dark and closed up now, and Juliet and Allan could barely stand to see it so.

And now life had thrown them another curve, Allan thought, fingering the letter in his pocket. He had just received it today. Looking at Juliet by the fire he thought that she seemed content--it wasn't fair to spring another change upon her. So he would wait--until the time was right to spring this on her.

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In December, quite near Christmas, Teddy Kent collapsed at his studio and was rushed, by ambulance, to the hospital in Charlottetown. He had not had a heart attack, but it was a like a heart attack--he was stressed and overworked--it was imperative that he not work so hard in the future. Or else next time he might not be so lucky.

Juliet heard the news from her mother over the telephone and crumpled to the floor, sobbing. She was not sure if it was from worry or relief. Her heart felt like it was being pulled from her body--she wanted her mother's arms--she wanted her father to pat her hair and say, "My girl--my girl." She wanted Douglas to talk things over with. She wanted Bea to reassure he it would be all right. She wanted the softened halls of hallowed New Moon, the wind through Lofty John's Bush, long walks on the Tomorrow Road. It struck her with a pang that at this very moment, the halls of New Moon were gleaming quietly--the snow was falling on Lofty John's Bush--and someone was rambling with their true love in the wintry Land of Tomorrow. And she was not there to see it--to see any of it.

"I want to go home," she said to Allan suddenly.

She expected Allan to go to her, to murmur words of comfort to her. She expected he would think she was just upset. She did not expect for him to say, seriously, "Do you really?" And pull a letter from his desk in the study.

Allan read her the letter, then put it down and smiled softly at Juliet.

"Let's go home," he said.

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Home--home--home! The word played over and over in Juliet's mind in the weeks to come. Allan accepted the offer to move back to the bank in Charlottetown--they looked for houses near Blair Water--they packed up their dear cottage and broke the news to their friends. They worried it would not be fair to uproot Denny from the only life he had ever known, but the boy wriggled with excitement at the thought of seeing the places his Auntie and Uncle had told him about.

At night, when her babies were asleep, Juliet donned her robe and walked through the quiet cottage. She was glad to be going--but part of her grieved. This was the first house she and Allan had together--the house Maggie had visited--the house Stella and Margaret were born. The house where Imogene would have been born--the house where they lost her. Juliet could not help her sentimental nature--she cried over her little memories by the light of an old moon--but when the sun rose she was all smiles and excitement again.

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"I've found us a house," said Allan one day, waving a letter triumphantly. "Can you guess where it is?"

"I suppose it's in Charlottetown," said Juliet with a sigh. "I'm used to living in the city after this but I had hoped it would be near New Moon. Well, tell me about it, Allan dearest. Is it a little house?"

"No--quite big. But charming all the same."

"Is there a brook? Are there trees? And if there are, I want old trees--mostly."

"Yes to the brook--yes to the trees--and most of them are quite old."

"I suppose there's no spruce bush near it," Juliet laughed. "That would be too much to ask."

"Well," said Allan. "There is a spruce bush--right by it, actually. A very lofty one."

Juliet's heart skipped a beat. "Allan," she said tremulously. "Who is that letter from?"

"Aunt Elizabeth Priest wrote it," said Allan. "She is tired of living alone--she has invited Bella and Doug to live at Priest Pond. They accepted. And that leaves--"

"New Moon!" Juliet cried. "Oh, Allan--we're going to live at New Moon?"

"I told her we'd have to think it over," said Allan loftily, and Juliet laughed and pinched him playfully. He pinched her back--tickled her--they chased each other around the kitchen like the children they had once been. When they had exhausted themselves they fell into each others arms. Then they sat very still together and watched the stars come out. And dreamed and dreamed.

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Mona and Barry drove them to the airport--there were heaps of tearful goodbyes and promises to visit. One plane ride, one train ride, and then they were on the ferry to the Island. It seemed to happen in no time at all.

Allan held Stella in his arms and Denny held Margaret. Already a bond had been formed between them--a bond stronger than life or death itself. He was very protective of her. In later years, Juliet would look at them together--her son and daughter--and remember them like this, standing at the rail on the top deck of the ferry--her in his arms--both looking toward home.

It was a gray day--overcast--they passed Les iles-de-madelines, which looked dark and gloomy in the fog. But just as the red cliffs burst into view on the horizon, a ray of sun peeked through the clouds and bathed the little family on the deck in its warm, radiant light.

"Look, Denny!" Juliet cried. "Look, Margaret--Stella! Oh, Allan, dearest, we're _home_!"

The wind picked up and tossed the salt spray in the faces of the passengers who stood at the rail. Most of them recoiled--Allan wiped his spectacles and Denny shrieked--but Stella opened her eyes and cooed and Margaret tossed her arms wide and seemed to be tasting the wind. Juliet laughed.

"Look at that!" she cried. "They're Island girls, after all!"

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The End.

I hope you all liked reading this story as much as I liked writing it. I'm so sad to see the end of Juliet's story, but I'm glad she has her family, and I'm glad she's finally home.


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